Shattered Moments
by Rurouni Star
Summary: [Sequel to Out of Time] And for every small change, there is another, and another, and another... Hermione goes into fourth year with a misbehaving timeturner and the knowledge that there is a dark future to prevent.
1. Prologue

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

Part II in what I've come to call the Twisted Timeline series. The first was "Out of Time". I hope this one has a few surprises in it and that everyone enjoys it at least as much as the last. Because this is where the meat of the story is, now that we've gotten past the preliminaries… get ready for your obligatory dark, angst-ridden RS fic. Yay.

Also, I realize that I made a lot of people wait a very, very long time for this, and I am very sorry. School was, simply put, _hell_ this year. Luckily, next year is going to be almost laughably easy because of it. I'm probably overly pleased with myself (and overly optimistic) but there you are. I hope everyone enjoys this one, because now that I reread it, I actually did myself. Thanks for all the reviews and even the bugging to get the sequel done. I did sort of need it. P

**Prologue**

"Nothing, of course, begins at the time you think it did."  
**-Lillian Hellman**

"Hermione, dear! You've got a letter from one of your friends!"

The so-named girl groaned, blinking awake blearily and rubbing at her eyes. She looked about in the dark room for her lamp, flailing about a bit and managing to knock a glass of water to the floor in her movements. Crookshanks, asleep on top of her, yowled unhappily as he was displaced in her efforts. Hermione gritted her teeth as she found the switch and ran her fingers through her hair. Ron or Harry – whoever it was – was going to be _very_ sorry indeed for sending an owl at this time of night…

If her mother weren't a night owl (pardoning the pun, of course) she'd probably have been in a great deal of trouble.

She stumbled down the stairs, blinking in the sudden light and trying to focus her vision on her mother. She was holding something in her hands, cupped-

Something that resembled a little tennis ball with feathers glued on dive-bombed her. Hermione screeched while her mother looked on with amusement.

"It seems fond of you," the older woman remarked. Hermione managed to catch the excited owl with effort, and turned to frown at her mother.

"You could've warned me," she said sourly – then yipped in surprise as the owl in her hands nipped at a finger, hooting happily. She looked down at it frustratedly. "I'm _getting_ to you!" she told it crossly.

When she looked up again, her mother was smiling gently, hands in the pockets of her cotton robe. "It's cute, isn't it?" the woman said.

Hermione snorted - the mottle-feathered bird struggled in her grasp as she endeavored to untie a letter from its leg. "I'd use a different word, but sure."

Her mother was still staring at it with a kind of wistful expression on her face. "Do you think we ought to get you an owl, Hermione?"

The girl blinked, pausing in her efforts, and looked up in surprise. "Whyever should you want to do that?" she asked, confused and slightly defensive. "I have Crookshanks, you know."

The brown-haired woman held up her hands in a conciliatory manner, mouth curled upward in a strangely mischievous smile that Hermione couldn't help but think looked wrong on a parent figure. "Nothing against your cat, of course," she said. "I do love him, you know that. It's just that owls seem so useful – and I can't help but think you could find a rather pretty one…"

Hermione inwardly groaned. The woman she was supposed to see as a mother (but usually ended up treating like an older best friend) loved animals of all kinds – but when it came down to it, she always ended up taking care of them while her mother monopolized their affections in her uncanny way.

Crookshanks unwittingly proved her right as he slunk out from the door sourly, moving toward her mother. The woman knelt down and let him into her lap right in the middle of the hallway, cooing as he turned over to let her rub his stomach.

"Oh be that way then," Hermione muttered to the ungrateful cat. Crookshanks ignored her as she went back into her room with the owl tightly in hand.

She closed the door behind her with her foot, ignoring tiredly the mess of water on the floor and sitting down on her bed to pull the letter free. This was probably Ron's new familiar – he'd been talking about getting a one, after 'Scabbers' had disappeared…

Hermione froze as she saw the handwriting on the outside – the tight, curled letters that said _"Hermione"_.

The thought hit her belatedly that Harry and Ron had both already written at least once – and that she'd already sent Harry his cake and present.

A giddy kind of relief took her as she hurriedly unfurled the scroll (ignoring the bird, who was now bouncing about her room like a tiny tornado). She'd been so worried when Sirius hadn't sent anything, though she had tried to convince herself there were reasons. In truth, she'd half feared he'd forgotten about her (unlikely) or brushed her off as a minor concern (all too likely). But here – here was the evidence that she'd not been forgotten or pushed aside. She scanned the letters eagerly, looking for news on the man she'd helped hide at Hogwarts the year before.

_H,_

_I'm sorry I haven't been able to write before now. Things were rather hectic while I was trying to find a hiding place – luckily, I don't think anyone's spotted me so far. Naturally, I can't tell you where I am, though I will say I'd come here for vacation any day._

_You'll be happy to know that Buckbeak's been changed back and settled into a forest somewhere on the continent. Incidentally, I wouldn't worry about his hunting instincts. He seemed to adjust just like you suspected – immediately took off after some rodent or other when we set down. I wish him all the luck in the world._

_I hope your summer is going well – have Harry and Ron been writing regularly? I wish I could get Harry a birthday present, but I'm somewhat badly placed to do so. You'll have to get him something very good for me, and let me repay you when I get back. _

There was a brushed surface, where she could barely make out that something had been written, then sanded over (unsuccessfully) then scratched out altogether. Hermione blinked, but moved her gaze farther down to where the writing continued.

_What kind of schedule have you made yourself for next year? I hope you're not taking twelve classes again – there's only so many times I can bail you out on principle. Hopefully, you won't be needing that timeturner again. In fact, I would really advise you to drop some classes if you still require it – Moony told me before I left that no student has ever used one for two years running._

_I'm afraid I have to go now, but write back if you can. The owl knows the way back – you can go ahead and name it if you want, as I haven't bothered to yet._

_Best wishes,_

_-S_

Hermione bit her lip, rereading the letter more closely this time. He'd purposefully included the last part about the timeturner, of that she had no doubt. But why he would bother to worm it in so casually, she couldn't determine. Perhaps he really was just worried about her dropping dead from the strain.

She shook her head, too tired to think seriously about it on any level. The girl stowed the letter in the drawer next to her bed, then eyed the still jittery owl warily as it settled on her lap, looking at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

"You mind staying here for the night?" she asked it.

It hopped once, hooting happily and going to nip her finger – she drew it back hurriedly, and smiled in a forced way. "That's okay," she told it. "Let's just settle you in for the night. If you go back to Mum, I'm sure she'll give you something to eat."

She probably shouldn't foist the energetic thing off on her mother, but the woman was usually all-too-willing when it came to animals – except when it came to the dirty jobs.

Hermione opened the door for it to fly out, then picked up the glass on the floor and set it, empty, onto her bedside table. The spill would need a towel, obviously, but she was _really_ feeling very tired…

Biting guiltily at her lip, Hermione wiped the water up with her spare blanket, inwardly vowing to put it in the wash in the morning.

She crawled into bed, then, and turned out the light, drifting into a restless kind of sleep…

The golden timeturner glimmered, untouched, on her dresser.


	2. The Brief Summer

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

Er… wow. I think that's the quickest, greatest response I've ever had (I love you, by the way). So here we go… hopefully this will answer a few questions.

Speaking of which, this and the next chapter are the two that gave me the most trouble. The Burrow, despite being chock full of magic and having a ghoul in the attic, can be a surprisingly boring place.

**Chapter 1 – The Brief Summer**

"The beginning is always today."  
**-Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley**

Something was biting her lip.

Hermione groaned and sat up, rubbing at the sore skin.

The little owl hopped off her face with an approving hoot, and she glared at it. "Fine. I got it. Message." She turned to look at the clock near her bed and bit back a growl of frustration. Six am.

"Insistent little thing, aren't you?" she muttered as she stumbled out of her covers toward the parchment that still lay on her desk.

Admittedly, her handwriting was not going to be beautiful in the early hours of the morning. She gave it her best shot.

_S,_

_I can easily understand your delay in writing – I did say 'if you could'. Thank you so much for taking care of Buckbeak; I know that must have been a bit of a hassle. Ron and Harry have been mostly regular, but summer is summer, after all. I'll make sure to get Harry something good, and I'll even leave him something else without a name if you want. Though I don't see why you should need to get him anything at all after the Firebolt – he adores it._

She paused as she tried to find the best way to approach the timeturner matter. Admittedly, she probably wasn't awake enough to do this right, but she did anyway.

_I am taking extra classes this year, but I shouldn't need to use the timeturner much at all. Don't worry, I know my limits this year._

_Your owl is a menace, and my mother is in love with it. I hope you're happy._

_Write back soon,_

_H_

She blinked as she realized belatedly he'd asked her for a name. Then she added –

_P.S. – I'm calling the beast Geronimo._

The so-called owl was currently blinking at the parchment curiously as she rolled it up, intending to affix it to his leg. As she moved to attach it, though, he hopped away with a playful hoot, fluttering his wings a few times.

"I need to get this out," Hermione told it, annoyed. She made a grab for it, but it again hopped backward. "Would you sit _still?"_ she hissed.

Geronimo was now having the time of his life, however, and was going unabashedly for the door.

Why was the door open?

Hermione shook her head, thinking to herself that she'd _definitely_ closed it before she'd gone to bed, and ran to shut it before the owl could make its escape.

Thankfully, it closed just before the owl could get out, and Hermione shot her hand out to close her fingers around the tiny, ball-shaped owl.

It hooted, obliviously happy even as she tied the letter to its leg and pushed it insistently out the window.

"Get going," she shooed it. "See if he'll give you something to bring back."

Happily, the thing disappeared into the rising sun.

And Hermione went back to bed.

000000

Truthfully, she'd had a pretty good summer. The extra Arithmancy had kept her both busy and fascinated, and her (supposed) fourteenth birthday was coming up – her parents usually had a nice, quiet dinner at home, with her favorite cake. Letters from Harry and Ron had been, if not frequent, often enough. And now, she had reassurance that Sirius was safe.

So why did she feel so suddenly edgy?

Her uneasiness was temporarily forgotten when she received the news that Ron wanted her and Harry to join him for the Quidditch World Cup.

Her mother agreed reluctantly – she'd wanted to spend more time with Hermione, she said, before she went off to school – but her father seemed interested at the idea of a wizarding sports championship.

"As long as you bring some pictures back," he said. Then, with a glance at her mother, "Some of the moving ones, if you can?"

Hermione grinned. "Of course, Dad," she said.

Packing took her a rather short amount of time – she'd long since mentally revised what she would have to bring with her to Hogwarts – and she'd only paused a moment when her eyes caught on the golden hourglass still sitting on her dresser.

She would have to wear it. There was no way to pack it safely enough in her trunk. One of Hermione's most dreadful fears was that it would break.

Her fingers reached out hesitatingly to brush the glass while she held her breath. The voices had completely gone away, she realized quite suddenly. Why hadn't she realized it before…

She'd been busy. She'd not wanted to think on it.

Would putting the thing back on restart them?

Hermione bit her lip. She had to do it. The visions and the voices were important to whatever her other self needed to change. If she just gave the timeturner up, she would be condemning herself and others to things she didn't want to imagine.

All in one motion, she moved her fingers to close around the object tightly, pulling it from the dresser.

She waited cautiously.

Nothing happened. Hermione let her breath out and looped the chain about her neck, tucking the tiny hourglass under her shirt.

Something unfathomable clicked into place inside of her, like an old friend come home. So familiar was the sensation, in fact, that she didn't even notice it.

Hermione went down the stairs, lugging her trunk behind her. Her father caught her with a smile, picking up the trunk himself and helping her down.

"Don't forget to write," he told her. "We always love hearing from you."

She smiled back. "I'll send you a letter at least once a week," she promised.

At the door, her mother and father kissed her goodbye. As always, her mother was in tears. "Have a good year," she sniffled as Crookshanks rubbed up against her leg in farewell. "And Hermione, dear – say hello to your friends for us, won't you?"

Hermione tried very hard to hold back her own tears. "Yes, Mum," she said. "I'll say hello."

She gave them each one last parting hug before stepping outside her door and closing it behind her.

The street in front of her was empty, in the high afternoon sun, and silence rang in her ears. Hermione looked about the neighborhood slowly - a strange sense of loneliness hit her, all at once, and she wiped at her eyes to keep the moisture there from building up.

Crookshanks mewed grouchily as she hesitated – he got up on his hind legs to paw at her wand.

"Okay, okay," Hermione said. "Don't get impatient."

Sighing, she rolled her trunk to the street and held out her right arm, wand in hand.

She wasn't really sure what to expect – she'd only had Harry's strange recounting and Ron's reassurances to go by.

Therefore it was a complete surprise when a low hum filled the street – and a screeching sound came from around the corner.

Hermione's eyes widened, and she stepped backward – Crookshanks, standing behind her primly, yowled unhappily as she tangled her legs on his and hit the pavement.

A large, double-decker bus whirled into view in front of her just as Hermione held a cautious hand to her scraped elbow.

The bus doors opened, and she blinked at the man that leaned against the side wall lazily. "Knight Bus," he muttered halfheartedly, not bothering to elaborate in any way. Hermione took this to mean he wasn't the same person Harry had met.

She pulled herself to her feet with a wince and rolled her trunk on for herself with a confused glance at the man, who paid absolutely no attention to her problems with it.

The doors slammed shut behind her as she got on, and Crookshanks hissed at the driver as his tail was nearly caught in them.

There were more important problems, though, to take into account – the bus was beginning to move, and not slowly either…

000000

"Hermione!" a red haired boy was saying, shocked. "You look absolutely awful! What happened?"

She glared at Fred (or George) and crossed her arms. She meant to upbraid the group of young Weasleys gathered outside for not properly warning her, but any anger she might have felt evaporated instantly as she caught sight of the house behind them.

It was, for lack of a better description, absolutely fascinating.

"Is this the Burrow?" she managed, flabbergasted. Her eyes were glued to the seemingly stacked up house; layer upon layer of rooms and windows. The colorful house with the walkway to the front reminded her of a Technicolor cartoon.

Ron frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked her indignantly.

"Nothing," Hermione responded quickly. "It's just – I mean, it's amazing!"

Hermione jumped slightly as someone touched her shoulder from behind.

"I'm Charlie," said a voice behind her. "It's nice to meet you in person, Hermione."

She turned about with a smile. "Nice to meet you, Charlie."

He would have been slightly more intimidating than his photo, had he not been smiling broadly. Charlie was very tall (though not quite as tall as Ron) and quite heavyset. His face was covered in freckles, like most of the family, and his brown eyes sparkled with the unknown quality she'd very rarely seen come out in Sirius'.

She shook his hand, noting his strong grip, and felt herself settle into a comfortable half-familiarity with him. Charlie had written to her before, in the matter of Norbert, and she had always thought he sounded like a very decent person.

"Bill's not here yet," Ron's voice came from beside her. "He's going to get here in a bit, after he smoothes over some kind of last-minute thing with some old guy's tomb..."

"Ah yes," George said, feigning great knowledge on the matter. "The traps me and Fred installed there last time we were in Egypt must've gone off…" His grin gave away the very obvious fact that he was lying.

"I'd hate to see _your_ tomb," Ron murmured with a shudder.

Hermione privately agreed with him as Fred and George looked at each other with smiles of inspiration on their faces. Fred pulled a tiny notepad out and began to jot something down forebodingly.

"Where's Percy, then?" Hermione asked, suddenly realizing that not everyone was accounted for.

"Off at the Ministry," Charlie said with a wink, "working on _top-secret_ stuff."

Ron stifled a snort while George let out a loud cough that sounded very much like 'cauldron bottoms'.

Hermione frowned. "I do wish you wouldn't tease him so," she said to Ron, ignoring the others. "He's going to do a lot of good for someone with all that knowledge."

Ron looked very much like he wanted to say something sarcastic, but just as he opened his mouth, a loud POP! split the air and a red-haired man apparated just in front of them, stumbling a bit. He was bleeding from a cut just beneath his right eye.

"Dad!" Charlie said in alarm, rushing toward the new arrival. "What on earth-"

Mr. Weasley moved back a step and rubbed at his cheek ruefully where a trickle of blood had begun to travel its way down to his chin. "Don't worry," he reassured them hastily, "It was just an out of control hat-rack… honestly, the things people will enchant these days…"

"A hat-rack, attacking people!" Hermione said before she could stop herself, feeling scandalized. "That's completely irresponsible, what was the trigger?"

"Coming in the door without saying your name," Mr. Weasley said to her, not without a trace of frustration in his voice. Then, without waiting to hear her response (he was obviously very tired), he turned back to the boys. "I'm going to bed – will you lot take care of Hermione for me?"

There was an immediate murmured assent, which made Hermione feel slightly warmer.

"Come on then," George told her as Mr. Weasley disappeared into the house. "Me and Fred have things to do." He stopped, then rephrased himself carefully with a look back at the others. "I mean, we're glad to see you, Hermione-"

"But you want to try to make an attacking hat-rack now?" she muttered dryly, not without a little humor in her voice.

Fred beamed, grabbing her by one arm and dragging her forward. "Right in one. No wonder everyone says you're so smart…"

Hermione knew blatant flattery when she heard it, but she let it go – she'd been much more lenient with Fred and George since stealing their map.

She noticed belatedly that Charlie and Ron had grabbed her things and were carrying them in after her. She made to protest, but Ron gave her a look that dared her to try it – her mouth shut with a snap.

Fred and George lugged her into the kitchen – an amazing whir of activity and magic and color that made her feel immediately at home. Her eyes roamed almost hungrily about the room, taking in all of the things that the Weasleys must have taken for granted by now. The broom (of the non-flying kind, she could obviously tell) was sweeping the floor industriously on its own – it moved aside to let her pass, then continued its peculiar job as she passed. Fred muttered something amusedly about jinxing _brooms_ to attack people; she could swear she heard Percy's name in there as well. George's immediate agreement only made her more nervous.

It was then that her eyes alighted on the clock hanging on the wall… she wasn't entirely certain what time it was, and her watch was in her case. Hermione blinked as she saw the hands of the clock, and stopped without realizing it. They had _names_ on them – the whole family, it looked like. It took her a moment to read them – Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, Charlie, and Ron were all resting on the "Home" space of the clock. Ginny (written "Ginevra") was currently "shopping" along with Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione gasped as she caught sight of Bill's clock-hand; it was pointing straight upward at "Mortal Peril".

"Fred, George!" she said in a panic. "Look! Bill's clock-hand, it's-"

The two looked where she was pointing but didn't react quite as she'd expected.

"Again?" George said, sounding at once both impressed and envious. "That's the third time this week!"

Fred sighed. "Bill always gets the good jobs…"

Hermione's mouth fell open for the second time that day. "What?" she nearly screeched. "What are you _talking _about, it says he's in danger!"

Fred and George exchanged amused glances before looking back at her. "Shall I?" Fred asked his twin congenially.

"No," said George, "I think I shall." He grinned at Hermione. "My dear, dear fourth year – Bill is almost _always_ in mortal peril. He's a curse breaker. It's part of the job."

Hermione felt something inside her shirk at the idea of 'always' being in mortal peril. "But aren't you worried?" she asked in a small voice. "I mean… I'm surprised your mother hasn't asked him to get a different job…"

Fred shrugged. "She tried, believe me. Still tries every time he comes home, in fact. But he's not yet died, which he likes to point out."

George got a slightly more serious look on his face at this, which surprised Hermione momentarily. "Bill's never been one to do anything other than what he wants. He's good at the job, and someone's got to do it, after all."

Hermione sighed and deflated, as Ron and Charlie entered with her bags. "I guess I shouldn't get involved in it anyway," she admitted, shame-faced, her hand going instinctively to the time-turner beneath her shirt to make sure it was hidden. "It's just the thought of either of my parents in mortal peril… I don't think I could be calm about it no matter how many times it happened."

_"…happened so quickly…"_

She felt the blood drain from her face abruptly, and felt Fred and George's eyes grow intent upon her. She hoped they would chalk it up to a vivid imagination.

"You'll be staying with Ginny, I think," Ron interrupted, apparently unaware there had even been a conversation or a significant pause on Hermione's part. "I'll… I'll show you where it is, if you like?" He sounded uncertain, as though she might for some reason refuse.

"That'd be wonderful," Hermione said quickly, with great relief at the opportunity to escape. She was one of the few people that had recently become aware just how intelligent the twins were – and there were just a few secrets they could not know. That no one could know, in actuality.

Ron smiled with a relief of his own as he showed her up the stairs, but Hermione, being slightly distressed and out of tune, completely missed it.


	3. At the Burrow

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

A few answers:

**a) **Sirius crossed out a more blatant reference to the timeturner, which will become a little more apparent later once he starts bugging Hermione about it. I figure it's not too bad to let you know now as it was possible to pick up on it earlier. In essence what he was saying went something like this: "Are you CRAZY, get rid of that thing NOW before it steals your souuuuul!" Er. Something like that. P

**b) **As for question number two, I seem to have outsmarted myself. She closed the door, but I forgot to put that. And the reason the door was open was an annoying mother playing with pets. My own mother used to open my door in the mornings before I woke up and leave it open, which drove me absolutely insane, so I sort of added a bit and hoped it wasn't too hidden a message.

**c) **The different conductor is just there for flavor because I figure poor Stan isn't working all the time. Good idea, though.

**d) **And Sirius will get his POV, but not for a while. You'll figure out why.

And a comment, even though it doesn't really answer any questions: the Weasley twins get major coverage this time around. They're involved in some _very_ important memories, as you'll soon see.

Plus, I'm just very partial to them.

**Chapter 2 – At the Burrow**

"Lost, yesterday, somewhere between Sunrise and Sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone forever."  
**-Horace Mann**

Hermione was glad to see Ginny again once she and her mother got back from Diagon Alley – it had been much too long, in her opinion, since they had talked. The idea finally hit her that she would be able to stay up late talking with her, since she was staying in her room. It appealed to her – she'd never really had that kind of relationship with any other girl, where she could giggle about boys and people they both knew and useful little cosmetic spells (of which Hermione knew a lot but did not like to use).

She found herself immediately appalled at the turn her thoughts had taken, of course – Hermione was not – repeated, _not_ – an empty-headed little teenage girl. But her uncertain mind offered up excuses immediately: a little bit of social interaction was nice every once in a while, and it couldn't hurt, surely. And… and if it was something she wanted, there was no reason to deny it to herself.

Her mind made up, Hermione looked over at Ginny across the dinner table. The other girl was looking straight back at her, as though waiting for a confirmation. When Hermione gave a hesitant smile, Ginny grinned back – then pulled back her spoon and shot a pea at Fred.

Hermione stifled a snort of laughter as he looked about in surprise, then blinked as his eyes landed on her with a kind of suspicious amusement. She shook her head 'no' and tried to look unobtrusively at Ginny, but a glint had come into his eye which she didn't quite like. He turned to whisper something in George's ear, and a shiver of foreboding went down her spine.

Ron, completely immune to the brewing war and underlying tension, turned toward her, distracting her. "Hey Hermione," he said, "Harry's going to be here in a few days – well, I mean, that is if his aunt and uncle let him." At this he scowled slightly, but quickly regained himself to continue. "Anyway, I'm sure they will. So, I was thinking… you know, we should have a Quidditch match. I mean with everyone here, we might be able to come up with decent teams…"

Hermione felt something inside her plummet glumly. Flying was not easy for her. If Ron thought she would have fun falling from a great height multiple times, he was very wrong indeed. But, she thought tiredly, the thought did count.

She smiled weakly. "How about I referee?" she asked in what she hoped was an enthusiastic voice. "I'm sure I have a book on the rules – actually, I'm sure _you_ do too -"

At his disgusted face, she knew he was going to protest.

"Hermione," he began, surely enough, "You read enough during the school year, don't you? I mean, not that Quidditch makes for boring reading, but you need to have some _fun._ Lighten up a little!"

His statement was punctuated by a tiny 'plop'. Hermione closed her eyes with a groan and smeared the mashed potatoes from her face.

Ah. Gravy.

"Fred! George!"

Mrs. Weasley's voice was shocked, but Hermione knew she wasn't sure which twin had actually perpetrated the deed.

"It's fine," Hermione said cheerfully. But, feeling vengeful, she looked over at Ginny and jerked her head toward the plate of peas. Sitting ammunition.

Ginny nodded imperceptibly. While Mrs. Weasley inspected the two twins' faces – both identically angelic – the two pulled back their spoons and aimed carefully.

The almost invisible vegetables went flying. George blinked as Hermione's hit him squarely between the eyes. Ginny's, alas, went flying straight past Fred with no effect.

Hermione realized belatedly that Charlie was stifling laughter behind his hand. He was judiciously turning it into a cough.

_Perhaps we should get out of here before this turns ugly,_ she thought wryly. She almost looked for the time on the wall before remembering that the clock didn't show it. Still, she saw with a kind of palpable relief that Bill's hand had moved to "traveling" and no longer showed him as being in a deadly situation.

"I'm sort of tired," she yawned. "Would it be all right if I washed up and got to bed?"

Mrs. Weasley looked away from the twins and smiled in a motherly way. "Yes, dear, that's fine – you must have had a long day."

Hermione realized as she went upstairs that she really _was_ tired. She barely had to brush her teeth and slip on something comfortable before she fell onto her cot and lost consciousness…

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_Cold.__ Dark. Damp._

_The wind was blowing through the room, making her shiver uncontrollably. And there was an awful leeching feeling, like more than just her heat was being taken from her… it was her **happiness**, her very being…_

_"I can't remember," a voice she didn't recognize was sobbing. "I can't remember, I can't remember anything…"_

_"I won't be like that," a hoarse voice was whispering – she **did** recognize this voice. "I won't be like them, I'm innocent, I'm **innocent…**" There was a pause, and she felt that the owner of the voice had just realized he had begun to repeat himself in a way that was similar to the other._

_"I have to stay sane!" he said, choking on the words. She imagined he was clutching at his head with his hands, though it was too dark to see. "I can't give into it, it's not fair that I should…Peter, why did you… Peter, why… you couldn't have known it was like this, you wouldn't condemn me to this, not you, Peter…"_

_It was growing colder by the second – there was a clanging sound, something was opening. A cold, clammy hand brushing past her as though it were **real**… and she felt herself descending into screams and pain and darkness-_

**_Stop. Stop, this is too much, I can't take this, _**_she was saying desperately._

_But there was no reply._

_The voices were blending together now, the screams and the gasping and the cold, cold room was somehow becoming part of it as it spun away from her – her thoughts were beginning to be torn from her, every sane thing she could manage, and all that was left was an unreasoning terror and despair…_

_A howl split the air._

000000

"Hermione! Hermione, are you okay, wake _up_ Hermione!"

She gasped, coming awake all at once and feeling a jerk as her limbs thrashed, just remembering that they could move. Ginny pulled back as she sat up, staring at her in the darkness.

"I- I'm sorry," Hermione managed. "It – it was just a bad dream is all. I watched a scary film before I left…"

Ginny blinked, probably wondering what a film was, but let it be. In almost the same instant her expression relaxed, her interest piqued. Her hand shot forward to pick something up-

"Hermione!" she said in awe. "This is beautiful! Where on earth did you get it?"

Eyes widening, Hermione jerked back, pulling the darkly glinting hourglass from the younger girl's hand. "It's – nothing," she said in an awfully stilted voice. Ginny looked slightly hurt and very disbelieving.

Choices whirled through her exhausted mind. She could tell the truth – _no,_ she couldn't – she could lie, but what lie was convincing enough – and Ginny might look it up and figure things out and go telling _then_ –

"It's a secret," Hermione said desperately. "I can't, Ginny, please; I'd get into so much trouble."

Ginny sighed, and looked longingly at the little golden necklace as though it were everything no one would ever tell her. "I know a thing or two about secrets," she said, though her voice was filled with resignation. "They only get you into trouble in the end, Hermione."

Hermione found she couldn't agree more – but she smiled in a relieved way at Ginny as they both turned over and went back to sleep.

000000

When Hermione woke up the next day, she found she was having trouble breathing. In a moment, she realized why – Crookshanks was laying heavily on her chest.

"Off," she managed thickly, pushing at him. The cat opened one eye to look at her briefly – then closed it and resettled himself.

Hermione groaned and tried to rise, feeling him slide off like a dead weight. Crookshanks gave her a dirty look before turning away to curl up again.

Ginny's bed was empty – Hermione supposed she must have been downstairs. She hoped Ginny wasn't upset with her. It was nice having a friend that wasn't male and trouble-magnetic.

She left a bowl of food out for the cat, who would probably get up as soon as she left the room, and smoothed the wrinkles from her pajamas before moving out the door.

She never had a chance.

"Why Hermione!" came a pleased voice from her right. "Up already?"

"It looks like it, doesn't it?" a wry voice said from her other side.

She blinked as, for the second time in two days, her arms were grabbed. The twins dragged her quickly over to a different room.

"Hey – hey wait!" she protested. "What's going on?"

"We were going to ask you yesterday, of course," George said airily, "but obviously, you were busy."

"So you grabbed me as soon as I woke up?" Hermione demanded, trying to disentangle herself from their grip as they ushered her into the room while Fred closed the door secretively behind them.

Hermione wouldn't have recognized it as their bedroom if she hadn't figured it was where they were taking her. The place was like a manicure – the beds were neatly tucked in, the pillows all in one place, the bookshelves (bookshelves?) were well looked through but arranged in alphabetical order.

The two beds had been shoved to opposite corners of the room in order to make room for… well, she wasn't entirely sure _what_ it was, other than a giant mess of knick-knacks and odd objects.

"We're taking a chance with you, Hermione," Fred said in a semi-serious tone that belied his amused eyes. "We need help."

"Help?" she asked, still slightly sleep-dazed.

George moved toward a bed stand, where he pulled open a drawer and began to rummage through it. Hermione took the opportunity to observe the strange mess on the floor. On closer inspection, she saw that it wasn't quite without purpose – there was quite a bit of unopened candy in it, as well as scattered papers with writing and diagrams and what looked to be quite a few wands.

Hermione looked sharply at them as she realized the candy was not just any candy, but _muggle_ candy.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, picking up a jawbreaker and inspecting it critically.

George pulled something out of the drawer with an 'aha!' and moved back over to them.

"Here!" he proclaimed, thrusting a slightly crumpled paper at her.

Hermione, always wary of a joke, took it cautiously.

After no explosions or large-scale disasters took place, she smoothed it out carefully and looked down at it.

"No," she stated flatly, looking up at them. "No."

Fred made a wounded face. "Why not?" he asked, injured.

George moved to one knee and took her hand dramatically. "You must, Hermione!" he said, "You're our only hope!"

Hermione, despite herself, began to feel uncertain. Normally, she wouldn't have budged an inch on such a proposition, but she'd stolen the map. It always came back to that stupid map.

"I-" she began, getting ready to convince both the twins and herself that it wasn't a good idea.

"We'll cut you in on the profits!" Fred said quickly.

Hermione paused, confused. "What profits?" she asked.

George looked up at him sharply. If he'd known pig-latin, she might have expected him to say 'ix-nay on the ofit-pray!'

But of course, he didn't. Instead of talking in pig latin, his face screwed up in concentration as though he were trying to mentally communicate it. Hermione could have told him it wouldn't work.

"Yes," Fred said firmly, ignoring his brother. "We're starting a business, George and I. If you help us out… maybe more than just this once… we'll cut you in on some of the profits. You'd be a minor shareholder, in essence."

Hermione blinked, mentally fitting together what she knew of the twins and figuring out what exactly they meant.

It hit her a moment later that they were much more organized about their pranks than anyone could ever have imagined.

"I'll think about it." The words popped out before she could even really consider them.

Fred beamed at her. "Oh good! I knew you'd see it our way!" And before Hermione could protest that she'd said she'd _think_ about it, he slipped something into her pocket. "Have a Ton-tongue Toffee," he winked. "Free of charge."

George raised his eyebrows. "But I wouldn't _eat_ it," he said with a significant look at Fred. The other twin looked almost disappointed that he'd spoiled the surprise.

Hermione nodded weakly, already feeling that her life was more out of control just for having been near the twins, and turned to leave the room. She folded up the little paper neatly and slipped it into her pocket.

The door closed behind her as she walked into the hall, and she turned about in surprise.

George was standing in front of it, alone – he was scrutinizing her closely, with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Um… yes?" Hermione asked him, feeling suddenly self-conscious in her flannel pajamas.

He shrugged uneasily. "You don't look very well, Hermione," he told her. "Is something wrong?"

She found herself stunned by the question as all the possible answers hit her.

There was _'no, I'm afraid for my life'_, _'no, I'm afraid for a convicted murderer's life'_, _'no, just seeing you puts me on a guilt trip'_, and, of course, _'yes, I'm perfectly fine, please do stay out of my business'_ or something close to that. Hermione chose a more diplomatic lie.

"I'm fine, George," she said. "Thanks for the concern. I've just managed to invert my sleeping schedule a bit is all."

He seemed to take her comment as truth as he nodded, but Hermione had the awful feeling that he wasn't quite convinced.

There was an awkward silence as each tried to devise a diplomatic way out of the situation – or, at least, Hermione knew _she_ was trying – at which point, George said, "Why don't we go down to breakfast?"

Hermione took the offered out, and she walked down the stairs in front of him, his footsteps echoing strangely just behind her own. Her fingers went unknowingly to the timeturner as she instinctively tried to make certain it was hidden.

The footsteps began to sound strangely in her ears. The echoes stretched, then began to slow, as though they were part of a record on a very low speed.

She gasped and stopped abruptly – the world had faded away around her, into a black eternity, filled only with the sound of her own steps.

_"…it's only a matter of time, where he's concerned…"_ her own voice whispered.

_"But what could you **do**, Hermione?"_ Ron asked desperately. _"Even you can't face off with **him**…"_

"…well yeah, but Bulgaria's got _Krum!_ I mean, even if they manage a decent score, he'll still get the snitch, you know he will-"

Hermione blinked – the world was back and the feeling of vertigo had suddenly disappeared. She turned about to ask George what Ron had meant-

And looked almost directly into his surprised eyes.

Hermione pulled back, then realized too late that modesty might have taken precedence over falling down a flight of stairs, just this once. She gasped, one hand still on the timeturner about her neck, painfully aware that bad things happened to those that broke powerful artifacts…

Thankfully, George was quicker thinking than she was. His hand shot out to grab hers – she grasped at it and pulled herself up a moment before something bad might have happened.

But as she looked at George, she realized that something bad might already have happened.

"What's _wrong_ with you lately?" he asked her impatiently.

_"He's dead, Hermione. Fred is gone."_

She stared at him, eyes wide. He hadn't uttered a word, but she'd _heard_ him so clearly, just now-

_"I'm so sorry, George."_

Hermione pulled her hand away from his, half-dazed, the time-turner still clutched in her hand. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again and tried to collect herself – but instead, she was turning around to walk down the stairs, shaking her head slowly and pushing the time turner beneath her shirt.

_Nothing is making sense anymore,_ she thought desperately.

George was watching her very closely as she sat down at the table, but he seemed reluctant to bring up the strange incident. Ron, meanwhile, had begun to talk enthusiastically about Harry's pending visit (he was apparently coming in that very day) and Hermione found herself frightened by her own lack of enthusiasm.

But when he began talking about the Quidditch Cup _tomorrow…_

Hermione sat bolted upright and glanced sharply at Ron. "Tomorrow?" she asked incredulously. "When were you going to let me know?"

Ron looked half-sheepish, half-irritated. "Well you know, you've barely been here – I suppose I just told you right now, didn't I?"

"Told her what?"

Fred was coming down the stairs, looking terribly upbeat for such an early hour. But Hermione caught herself staring for a moment – _he's dead, in a year, in a few years – _and looked away with what she imagined must have been a chalk white face.

Thankfully, no one seemed to be looking at her.

"Apparently, Hermione doesn't know when the Quidditch World Cup is," Ron said, and she could _hear_ him rolling his eyes.

"Well that makes sense, dear," his mother said while refilling Ginny's cup of orange juice. "I wouldn't imagine that Hermione's parents talk about it much, do they?"

Ron went quiet for a second. Hermione managed a look up at him and saw that he was blushing bright red. "Oh," he said. "Yeah, I guess."

Charlie and Fred got into a long conversation and Hermione tuned it out, playing idly with her food but not feeling particularly hungry. By the end of breakfast, she was thinking of the little folded paper in her pocket.


	4. Going Camping

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

There was a question in there I very much wanted to answer – but the answer is a Big Thing, so it'll have to wait until next sequel.

Sorry. :)

**Chapter 3 – Going Camping**

"Some national parks have long waiting lists for camping reservations. When you have to wait a year to sleep next to a tree, something is wrong."  
**-George Carlin**

Hermione readily volunteered to stay behind when they informed her they were going to go and get Harry. Not only was she unaware exactly how they were going to get there, she really had no curiosity as to precisely _how_ bad the Dursleys were. Instead, she went up to the room she shared with Ginny and began to work on the little paper in her pocket, while Charlie went out to buy a few groceries (it _had_ to be a guilt trip).

It was during this time, when she was glancing at one of her books and chewing on the end of her pencil, that she heard the _bang_ downstairs.

She blinked.

"I hope this isn't something else Fred and George have done," Hermione grumbled to herself as she pushed open the door, her notepad under her arm…

She heard a happy cry from below, though, and realized that it was probably nothing of the sort. The only thing that usually accompanied one of the twins' inventions was a frustrated yell followed by a "_Fred! George!_" Besides which, they were currently picking up Harry (and probably causing no end of trouble while they were doing it).

Hermione moved slowly down the stairs, curious despite herself. She heard Ginny's voice running excitedly and Mrs. Weasley's calmer but similarly excited one talking cheerfully.

She rounded the corner to see three red heads pushed together in a giant group hug – and somehow felt immediately out of place.

Hermione went back up to her room.

000000

It was later, when there was that pop! from the fireplace and a chorus of yells and talking, that Hermione met both Bill and Harry – Bill for the first time.

Hermione was relieved, at first, to feel the normal rise of excitement at the thought of seeing Harry again. She rushed down the stairs like the normal teen she liked to fancy herself, grinning widely and opening her mouth to call out to him.

But she stopped at the bottom of the stairs, for the second time that day, frozen by the tired, worried expression he was wearing as he pulled Ron out to the side to talk.

Hermione felt a little flutter in her stomach.

Something was wrong.

Her paralysis disappeared just in time as Harry looked up to see her. He, too, froze just for a moment – she was struck by his eyes, green, green eyes that she'd never much paid attention to before, and by the shadows beneath that heightened their color. Harry raised his hand, then, to beckon her into the fold once more. Ron moved aside to make room for her as a shrill voice that could only belong to Mrs. Weasley began to berate someone (or a few someones).

"What is it?" she whispered worriedly, taking better stock of him now and wondering (not for the first or last time) if it was something that _she_ had inadvertently caused.

Harry seemed to come up mute – struggling either for words or courage, she wasn't sure – but he seemed to find what he was looking for because a second later, he said: "I had a dream – something to do with my scar, I think it was real."

He paused, seeming pained and embarrassed, as though expecting a reprisal; but neither Ron nor Hermione said a word.

Harry looked up through his unruly bangs, and Hermione felt a strange foreboding as she saw it made his scar stand out more prominently, an angry red color.

"I think Voldemort's back."

Like everything else that day, it took a moment to register.

But eventually, the inevitable occurred. Ron's face went a sickly white color – he began stuttering, though neither of them could make out what he was saying. Harry became more subdued, if it was possible, and his eyes dropped to the floor.

Hermione presently became aware that her heart was pounding outrageously, and it was hitting the back of her eyes in a way that tinged things in black every other beat.

She heard dimly the crackle of paper and as she stabilized herself against the wall behind her, she saw Harry pulling something from his pocket, as though through a strobe-light.

"I wrote down everything I could remember right afterward," he said quietly. "I thought about… about telling someone. Professor Lupin, maybe. But I wasn't sure even he'd believe me."

_He would have, probably,_ Hermione thought dizzily. _But I suppose that's not important._

"I think it would have been a good thing to do," she murmured, blinking.

Harry shoved the parchment into her hands even as she heard a few indignant yells from the kitchen.

Hermione took a deep, steadying breath before shaking her head to clear it. Ron put a hand to his face, looking, for one of the first times since she'd known him, almost like an adult.

The paper was in Harry's normally awful scrawl, but she'd grown more than used to reading it. The truly hard thing to make out, in actuality, was the strange, stilted way in which it was written.

She narrowed her eyes and concentrated, willing her heart to stop beating so loudly even as she read.

**_Chair and fire,_** it said. **_Gardener, eavesdropping, snake(?), hissing (parseltongue?)_**

**_Ministry; _****_Albania_****_ Dead. Wyrm's tail? Quidditch. Planning something. Murder._**

Hermione swayed slightly, her mind whirling with the possibilities and the awful implications. But nothing could have prepared her for the last two words.

**_Avada Kedavra._**

Harry was taking a deep breath, watching her as she shook on the last two words.

"That's how it ended," he said in a shaken voice. "It's the only part I can clearly remember – the green light at the end."

Hermione felt her knees buckle – she grabbed at the wall behind her, but failed to find anything to hold to. The parchment fluttered away as she hit the wood floor hard.

He picked it up quickly, handing it to Ron, who was still sheet white, but was now looking slightly more composed.

Harry knelt down next to her, but still refused to look at her.

"You predicted this," he said quietly. It wasn't an accusation, but to her it held all the blame in the world.

"We don't know that," she said back, gasping. "I could've just been sick that day, hallucinating or something-"

"You did," he said, and this time it held a ring of finality to it that she found she couldn't dispute. He was probably about to say more, but he was shortly interrupted in the worst way possible.

"Hermione?"

She didn't look up, but then, she really didn't have to.

_Mrs. Weasley._

"I'm not feeling well," she said, and it wasn't a total lie. "I think I might need to go lie down for a bit."

Harry got up from beside her, slipping an arm behind her back and helping her up along the way. Hermione prayed only that she wouldn't look over at Ron, who was probably about to deteriorate into a similar condition.

Harry took her up without a word – she closed the door before he could say anything else.

Feeling stunned and sick and any number of other things, Hermione walked over to her bed and sat down on it. Something poked into her side – she picked it up and stared hard at it.

Hermione picked up her pen and scribbled something down in the journal – then, she tore out the sheet, folded it into quarters, and joined it with the other in her pocket.

Ginny woke her from a nap she hadn't remembered taking when she came in to go to bed later that night. Hermione lay awake for half an hour, staring at the wall and trying to feel lethargic again before she finally got up and tip-toed out the door.

The folded papers slipped easily beneath the door, and she thought only briefly of Hedwig, sleeping in her cage in Harry and Ron's room, before deciding it was too risky. Sirius would have to find out later.

000000

"Hermione? Time to get up, we're going."

It was still dark, but she could see Ginny's tired face faintly etched in the blackness of their room.

She murmured something non-committal, but got up anyway. She felt as though she'd barely slept.

Once dressed, they met the rest downstairs and picked up a few thoughtfully made packed breakfasts a la Mrs. Weasley. Fred was beaming at her. George was looking uncharacteristically serious and unhappy.

"Nothing important happened yesterday," Ron said from behind her, yawning. "We've got nothing."

Harry, behind him, made a quick, strangled noise of disagreement. "No," he said. "I thought of something last night – you remember your Mum gave me the newspaper to read and catch up…"

Ron turned around, interested. Harry beckoned them in closer.

"Sirius Black was spotted in Albania recently," he said seriously. "He has something to do with this, I know it."

Hermione felt a chill go down her spine.

"I don't think so," she said hurriedly – then cursed herself for being impulsive as they both turned to look at her curiously. "I just… something seems wrong about it," she finished lamely.

Harry shrugged. "It's perfectly logical to me – but if you put your finger on it, let me know."

Hermione wanted to ask him about Hedwig then, but thought it might seem too conspicuous after their current line of conversation. So she stayed silent.

As it turned out, there really wasn't much time for extra conversation – Mr. Weasley hustled them out of the house quickly and started up a brisk walk toward their portkey site. Normally, Hermione might have felt her strength taxed by such a strenuous walk – especially with her lack of sleep – but something about that morning was different. Her mind descended into a kind of trance, and Ron had to actually pull her back from walking past the discarded old boot in a haze. Once she stopped, of course, her legs began to burn.

Someone was talking as she touched a finger to the boot. But then, there was a hook behind her navel, and everything disappeared, to be replaced by a vaguely misty plain and a voice that said "Seven past five, from Stoatshead Hill."

Ron made as though to pull her along the whole way. Strangely, she let him, green shamrocks, badly dressed wizards-turned-muggles, and giggling witches in the peripheral of her vision.

"You going to help us with the tents, Hermione?" Fred asked. "Dad's looking a bit too excited about putting them up, if you catch my meaning…"

"She's feeling sick," Harry interrupted quickly. "I'll do it."

"No," Hermione murmured, shaking her head a bit and realizing for the first time that this place was _real_ and she was really, truly taking all those steps with her own two feet. "I'll help out," she said. "I'm feeling much better."

Why was she so affected by this turn of events? Hermione wondered to herself as she hammered in a tent spike. Harry really ought to have been more disturbed… but then, she supposed he had already had two direct brushes with Voldemort, so the novelty of constant imminent danger to his life might have worn off.

The question that now plagued her mind, of course, was this: was she more worried for Harry or for Sirius?

It was a sobering thought – but it fled her mind as she realized with a blank expression that there were no more spikes to hammer in.

"Would you like to come with us to get water, Hermione?" Ron asked. She was surprised to hear a strange hopeful tint to his voice.

She opened her mouth to say 'yes' – to affirm their friendship, to get more time alone with Harry and Ron to talk things out and figure out where to go from here. But it occurred to her presently that if that happened, she would have to finish her prior conversation with Harry about her uncanny prediction.

"No, I think I'll help around here a little more," she said weakly.

And if Ron deflated just a little, it was only something she noticed at the edge of her mind.

"Oh good, Hermione, you can show us how to use these… erm… matches, are they called?" Mr. Weasley was once again looking energetic at the thought of learning a new muggle invention.

Hermione realized belatedly that her decision was probably for the better anyway. Feeling a little more herself, she exchanged a knowing glance with Harry that said they were sharing the same thought: Mr. Weasley with matches.

"Maybe you should let me do that instead…" she said with a slight smile.

000000

Lunch brought with it the rest of the Weasley clan – Percy quite officiously announced that he had just apparated, while Fred and George looked at him with envy and a little bit of disgust. Bill and Charlie, meanwhile, dug in heartily. Hermione found she had to work fast to manage even a small portion of lunch before they demolished it entirely; apparently, slow eating didn't run in the Weasley family.

In the meantime, Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch made appearances at their tent, and Mr. Weasley rose to greet them, looking quite proud to be showing off his muggle know-how with their tents (Harry's doing, mostly) and muggle-looking fire (Hermione's). Neither really seemed to notice, but it didn't put so much as a ding in his brightness, even while he tried to convince Bagman that absent-minded Bertha Jorkins might need someone to go find her, wherever she'd disappeared off to.

At one point, Harry came back with three pairs of binoculars. He corrected her quickly that they were '_Omni_oculars, Hermione, even though I _know_ they look perfectly muggle.'

Ron was already using his own pair to great effect – in fact, Hermione was halfway convinced that he was using them to spy on the Salem Institute's female students. She herself decided to go and get all three of them programs – honestly, she sometimes wondered why she was the only one to think of the more useful things.

"Come on, come on!" Mr. Weasley was soon saying excitedly, herding them all together in front of the tents. "The game's about to start, we don't want to be late!"

Ron's eyes lit up, and even Harry looked as though he was barely containing his enthusiasm.

But Hermione's reaction was slightly tempered for two reasons: one, she really wasn't a very big Quidditch fan, though she found interest in the idea of watching the Cup with her two best friends.

Two: she remembered that the Malfoys would be sitting in the top box with them.


	5. The Trouble at the Quidditch Cup

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

To Donahermurphy: You are an evil, evil woman. Stop giving me tangent ideas. Truly: Rurouni Star :)

**Chapter 4 – The Trouble at the Quidditch Cup  
**"Dolendi modus, timendi non item."  
(To suffering, there is a limit; to fearing, none.)  
**-Sir Francis Bacon**

On their way to the top box, Hermione thought of any number of reasons she might split off and go wait the game out in a bathroom somewhere – but the truth of the matter was that she was quite stuck where she was because it would be stupid to make people worry just to stay away from Malfoy. Besides – there was a binding confidentiality charm on both of them, so nothing dangerous would be said in front of other people. Probably.

Her panic subsided only for a moment as they walked into the top box and she realized that none of the Malfoys were there yet. It returned as she remembered they would get there eventually – to steady herself, she opened her program and skimmed it through, noting aloud that the mascots would be on soon.

Ron seemed almost displeased that there would be any delay before the game itself, but Hermione had long since learned that what wizards considered boring and what _she_ considered boring were two drastically different things. Therefore, when Lucius Malfoy and his family walked in, she was watching the field closely for any signs of mascots.

The voice behind her, sly and carefully cultured, jolted her from her observation. Hermione looked back to see Draco Malfoy's father conversing pleasantly with a man she recognized with disgust – the Minister, who had come to passively watch Buckbeak die. But oh, Lucius Malfoy was sending poisonous glances at Arthur Weasley and at _her._

She bit the inside of her cheek and pretended to look past him, restraining the shudder of fear she felt at the idea that he might be mentally dissecting her, checking her for dirty blood.

Her eyes fell inevitably on Draco – who sneered at her as normal, and as expected. Hermione found she was almost relieved that nothing had changed between them. Too many changes, too quickly.

He made as though to walk over to her, probably to say something snide, but noticed belatedly the four Weasleys still seated near her and not engaged in conversation with the Minister and Lucius. Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie – she had the strangest feeling that at least one of them was directing a warning glare Malfoy's way, because he continued his motion only to stand beside his father.

"Prat," someone muttered behind her. She wasn't quite sure who, but she was very grateful nonetheless.

Enlivened music from the stadium drew her attention once more and Harry and Ron sat back down next to her. Bulgaria's mascots – at least a score of pretty, petite, silver-haired women – marched onto the field, tossing their locks imperiously and strutting about in the most ridiculous way. They reminded her oddly of muggle cheerleaders.

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned about to comment on this to Harry, who would probably understand the joke – but she found herself thunderstruck as she watched him rise from his seat with glazed eyes to lean precariously over the edge of the box. Ron, similarly, was getting up, looking as though he were contemplating some act of stupendous stupidity.

Lucius Malfoy and family seemed perfectly fine – the Minister was being calmly held back by one of the Bulgarians (their Minister?) and Ludo Bagman was whooping and hollering in a way that made her wonder if he was really being affected or if he was simply like this all of the time.

Bill, from behind her, snorted. "You might have to hold those two back, Hermione," he said. "Haven't had much experience with Veela, I guess."

Feeling more than a little irritated at her best friends' irrational behavior, Hermione leaned forward to catch the back of their shirts, one in each hand. They barely noticed as she hauled them back into their seats forcefully.

Ron began tearing up his shamrocks. Harry grinned dumbly.

Hermione decided she really didn't like Veela.

"Look at that!" Fred crowed, "Our little Ronniekins is drooling!"

Hermione felt her teeth bite down on the inside of her cheek a little too hard as she whirled about to glare at him. "I bet you did this at one point too, Fred!"

He grinned and shrugged. "I got mercilessly mocked for it too, so we're all pretty much even."

The music stopped then, and she turned back around to give Ron and Harry severe looks. But they were paying more attention to the second mascot showing, which had just begun.

_If it's anything like those Veela, I'm officially leaving,_ Hermione thought darkly.

But no, it wasn't more Veela – it was a very showy spectacle of Leprachauns and gold showering down and quite a bit more nonsense. It was pretty, of course, but Hermione felt bad as she watched Ron pay some debt to Harry in Leprachaun gold. Honestly, even _she_ knew better than that, and she was _muggle-born_.

Hermione looked down at her little shamrock badge as the teams made their way out (she looked up momentarily to see Viktor Krum, whom Ron had been unendingly idolizing since she'd gotten to the Burrow). Supposedly, she was supporting Ireland. Contemplating this concept, she shrugged. Really, it made very little difference to her who won, but she supposed she could humor Ron and Harry.

This nonchalance vaporized as soon as she got into the game.

She screamed herself hoarse at the fourth Irish goal – because really, the Bulgarians didn't stand a _chance_, even _if_ Krum was good, and they would _never_ beat out Ireland's chasers-

At some point in the game, the Veela began dancing again – thankfully, though, Harry and Ron seemed to have learned their lesson and were putting their hands over their ears. Fred still looked incredibly amused.

The end of the game was swift. It seemed to end in a strangely unfinished way, as Krum snatched up the snitch and completed his team's loss. Hermione found she rather admired him for it.

They left the top box crowing to each other about victory and lucky throws of the quaffle and how absolutely amazing Viktor Krum was as a player (though Hermione really drew the line there, and went on to other subjects). Fred and George looked absolutely jubilant – and even the Malfoys' last parting glare wasn't enough to make Hermione stop grinning like an idiot.

They argued far into the night about the game – though Hermione got lost in many of the intricacies and ended up just talking with Ginny about their upcoming return to Hogwarts – and at some point she found herself woken hazily by Ron, who told her she'd fallen asleep where she was and needed to get in her own bed.

She mumbled a hurried thank you and passed out in her bed proper, not expecting to be woken again for hours.

Slowly, Hermione slipped into dreams…

000000

_"I wrote to Sirius. He's coming to Hogsmeade."_

_"What? But he'll be caught! Is he an idiot?"_

**_Wyrm's tail._**_ Sounds like… worm… worm's tail…_

_"He just said 'Kill the spare', and there was this horrible green light-"_

_"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"_

_And she was swirling around in circles, being tossed about by the dust that had escaped her shattered glass…_

_"Can I really change anything?" she whispered._

_"Perhaps," his tired voice said. "And perhaps not. But there is truly only one way to find out."_

_"I give you my blessing, Miss Granger…"_

_"Hermione?__ I wonder why her parents named her that."_

_"Not a few people have said that about your name, Sirius."_

_"But still… Hermione?"_

_"Hermione."_

_"HERMIONE!"_

"HERMIONE!"

She woke with a start, only half-way dozing now that she thought of it.

Ginny was shaking her in a panicked way. "Come on, Hermione, we have to get out of here."

Something surged through her, and she picked herself up out of bed in a smooth motion.

"What's happening?" she asked. "Is someone hurt?"

Ginny looked small and frightened. "I don't know," she said. "I don't think so yet, but I think there will be soon-"

"Come on, girls, let's go! You can talk after you're safe!"

Mr. Weasley's voice, coming from the other room.

Hermione took charge, as she was used to doing, and grabbed at Ginny's hand. She dragged them both out of there and was in turn hustled from the tent by Mr. Weasley, who was looking grim with his wand in his hand.

"Of course they would pick the World Cup," he muttered. "Why wouldn't they, after all…"

Hermione looked around her with wide eyes, trying to adjust them to the dark. She saw flashes of light – there was laughter in the distance, and ugly catcalls. She moved a little to the side, to where the tent wouldn't block her view anymore-

Someone grabbed her by the hand and pulled her away. She almost pulled back, tried to see who it was, but she recognized the hand somehow without looking at it. George.

"You see?" he said as he marched her off. "No common sense at all. You haven't _any._"

Hermione hurried to keep up with him, stumbling in the dark. "What are you talking about?" she hissed, suddenly overly aware of the need for whispering, though she still didn't know why.

He whirled about, looking serious. "Deatheaters, Hermione. They're hunting up some muggles for fun, and muggle-born's just as good."

She blanched at the word 'Deatheater', thinking of dark marks over houses and torture and death and everything else she'd researched with her precious time after the Divination scare.

"You're not serious," she told him in a shivery voice. "The Deatheaters are gone, they dissolved after Voldemort-" She didn't finish. Because of course, Voldemort was _not_ dead. Not anymore, if he had ever been.

"Well apparently a few of them kept their stuff for special occasions," George muttered. He dragged her into the forest and wove them through the trees, past a huddled group of gossiping American witches and a clearing where Stan Shunpike was avidly declaring himself in line for the position of Minister of Magic in front of a group of skeptical Veela. Eventually, and with no clear distinguishing reason, he sat down behind a tree and pulled his wand.

Hermione shivered, but did the same.

"Where are the others?" she asked in a small voice.

George muttered something under his breath (a shielding spell?) then said, "I think I saw Fred with Ginny – Perfect Percy, Bill, and Charlie are all bound to be helping Dad. I didn't catch sight of Ron or Harry – but they won't have trouble, Hermione, they're not Muggle."

For some reason, though it was the absolute truth, Hermione felt stung by his casual utterance of the fact that she was muggle. Though the fact that he'd taken the trouble to get her away from it all tended to discourage the theory that he thought any less of her for it.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I guess I really _don't_ have any common sense."

George sighed. "That's not really true, and you know it. It's hard to use common sense when you don't know what you're dealing with."

His comment mollified her currently pitiful self-esteem a little, but she didn't say anything.

A horrendous _bang!_ from outside the forest made her clench her teeth. George looked almost as though he wanted to go and help his father – but a badly-hidden glance her way stopped him cold.

He leaned back against his tree instead of getting up.

"So why'd you finish the equations?" he asked her.

Hermione colored at the unexpected question and tried to ignore the panicked footfalls and jeering voices about them.

"You wouldn't have been able to solve them on your own," she told him. "They really went into Arithmancy, which is a completely different story than basic wizarding equations-"

"Well _yes_," he interrupted. "But _why_ did you finish them? Fred seems to think you liked his business proposition, but I'm not sold on that particular theory."

She bit her lip and wished, not for the first time, that she could be more honest about this. She settled for a half-truth.

"I guess I feel like I owe you two something," she said quietly. "I don't know why. Maybe because you kept the Slytherins off my back in second year."

"So you decided to teach us how to break more rules?" George asked with a vague amusement.

But Hermione felt her more somber side take hold when she said: "Rules lost their value when they forced three children to take on Voldemort by themselves."

George stared at her.

She smiled tightly as she remembered all the awful things she'd seen that would soon come to pass. "There are more important things than a few school rules in this world. Friendship, I think. And making the most of what time we have."

The words sounded so much more dire in her own ears that she suddenly wished she could take them back.

Subsequently, George's voice floated over to her softly. "I think that's sort of a fatalistic view to take of the world. I'd rather have you trumpeting 'right will prevail' again and lose the equations."

Hermione drew her legs up to her chest and listened to the booming behind her. It seemed to her that it was the literal manifestation of the breaking of her illusions. One by one or all at once, she wasn't sure anymore.

"Am I depressing you?" she asked mildly.

George shrugged, though how she knew this in the middle of the night, she wasn't sure. "Not incredibly, but you do have that sort of mellowing aspect to you tonight." He was cracking jokes again. The little bit of seriousness was over.

Hermione rested her head on her knees then, feeling the adrenaline draining from her system once more. She was so very _tired._ In so many different ways.

"You know-" George started.

But she never got the chance to find out what it was he thought she knew. Because in the middle of his sentence, there was a deafening _crack!_ that opened up the sky, and the forest lit up in a sickly green way she felt she'd seen before (but wasn't sure how or when).

Hermione's head shot up from where she'd been dozing and she lost her breath.

A ghostly skull with a snake for a tongue.

It was floating in the air, not very far at all from where they were sitting.

000000

Later, she would reflect that there might have possibly been someone in the bushes. That someone might have watched her go by with invisible eyes, possibly watched George as well, and taken note.

But at the time, Hermione was only aware that George was up and sprinting ahead and telling her to _'stay put, for god's sake!'_

She didn't listen, naturally, but her wand was out and she _did_ cast quite a few protective spells on her way after him.

As she came upon the scene, though, Hermione saw the last thing she might have ever expected.

Harry and Ron, looking wide-eyed and desperate, in the middle of a circle of ministry wizards.

"DUCK!" Harry yelled as they raised their wands. He didn't wait for Ron to comply, but dragged him down with him as he hit the ground.

_"STUPEFY!" _cried multiple people. Hermione's eyes widened as she saw the streaks of red light rushing past the disoriented circle of wizards and racing into the dark.

"Get down!" she yelled. Possibly to George, possibly to the Aurors, and possibly just to anyone in the area.

She didn't know if anyone had taken her advice, but the ironic part was that something bright and hard hit her fully in the stomach and blew her from her feet. Hermione felt her brain stutter at the impact and saw dots appear before her eyes. She was somewhat aware of a need to stay conscious – to find out if Harry and Ron and George were all all right – but she found it was much too hard to breathe.

The circle of wizards and the people inside it all faded to a smothering black.

000000

"…what you were _thinking_, attacking children, of all things-"

"Well _someone_ fired off that Dark Mark! What, did you want us to stop and check before we took out a potentially dangerous threat?"

"And it didn't register that there were _two_ of them and they were about a foot shorter than your usual wand height?"

Hermione groaned.

Someone helped her up, with a hand behind her back.

No one in their class had _ever_ thrown curses like that. Not even Harry. Although, now that she thought about it, the person that had thrown it was probably a professionally trained Auror…

_"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"_

Yes. That.

Suddenly remembering where she was, who she was, and what she was carrying, Hermione moved her hand to her neck and encountered a little golden chain. She pulled on it a little, ignoring her need to swoon back into unconsciousness, and felt a reassuringly weighted, _whole_ hourglass hanging at the end.

"You all right?"

The voice splintered through her head like a thousand needles.

"_No,_" she hissed. "Stop talking."

She opened her eyes to see red hair, freckles, and narrowed brown eyes looking down at her.

"Harry and Ron have been accosted for questioning," George said, with not a little disgust in his voice. "We're trying to straighten things out presently."

"And the person that cast-"

"We don't know," he said shortly. She struggled to rise to her feet; he pulled her up from under the arms.

"Everything seems to be under control now," he told her. "All the Deatheaters apparated away at the Dark Mark. Not sure why, but I'm sure those genius Aurors have some kind of explanation on hand."

"Okay, got it," Hermione muttered at him. "They're stupid. Please don't introduce any more complicated concepts right now, if you can help it."

"Well," George said with dark amusement tingeing his voice, "We could go into discussion of verbal irony-"

"No thank you."

"Hermione!" Ron said, rushing over to them. "You got hit?"

She blinked. "You didn't?"

Harry was following quickly. "I pulled us down – they hit each other, though. And apparently you as well."

"So what's the verdict on the culprit?" George interjected quickly.

Ron grimaced. "They think it was a bloody _house elf_, of all things. You remember Winky, up in the top box?"

Hermione tried to recall anything from the day before, but failed miserably as her head pounded.

"Yeah," George said, confused. "You don't mean to tell me-"

"Oh yes," Ron said. "That's the theory. Winky took Harry's wand, changed her voice, and fired off the Dark Mark."

"Bonkers," George said, shaking his head.

Hermione rubbed at her temples and tried to make sense of it all. Somehow, though, nothing fit together at all. Usually, she would come up with at least some kind of possible explanation…

"Here now," Mr. Weasley was saying from above them. "Let's get back to the tent and join up with the rest. You lot should probably get what sleep you can before we leave."


	6. Interlude

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

Mmm… yes. Forgive me for feminizing Hermione just a little. I figured she was about at the age of puberty – so while I probably won't be going into any of the nastier details, she will have a few emotional things going on. You know. Girly stuff. Especially with her little age leap.

Also: questions answered to the best of my ability:

1) Hermione obviously recognized the spell – it was a stunner – but not only are the people throwing them professionally trained in their specific use, she was probably hit by more than one. And naturally, she would know the counter (Protego) but as she was overly focused on everyone else, she didn't use it.

2) Rita Skeeter didn't find out about the Aurors' attack on Harry, Hermione, and Ron before, and she heard nothing about the house elf, so I'm going to have to assume everything she did come up with was based entirely on her own imagination. Her article is the same.

3) I was thinking about letting you all wonder, but no; Hermione does not come up with her SPEW idea. Not only has she been forced to grow up more quickly in this fic, she is also incredibly busy _and_ she did not personally witness the house elf problems.

4) Sirius, unfortunately, does not show up for a very, very long while. There's letters, though. There's letters!

5) Ron. I… um… I'm tempted to just deflect this question. But the truth is that I've never been very good with Ron as a character. I don't understand his motivations a lot of the time, even in the real books, so I find it incredibly hard to write him. As a consequence, he's probably going to get largely ignored in the future as well. Sorry…

6) George. Ah… George. Yes well. I'm saying nothing.

**Chapter 5: Interlude**

Once they were back at the tent, Hermione insisted that she be fully filled in on the events she'd missed before – Harry explained things in a low, quiet tone, during which time she learned about the house elf in the top box and her sacking.

She felt her lips grow dangerously thin as she listened.

"That's horrible," she hissed. "What kind of a man can _do_ that-?"

"Mr. Crouch," Percy interrupted at this point, "is a very respectable man. He did what he felt he had to. And personally, I agree with him."

Hermione was shocked at this idea – from_ Percy_, of all people – and she told him so herself.

There followed quite a nasty fight about the treatment of house elves and the state of magical creatures in general. It lasted far into the night and then to the morning, at which point everyone else arose from their beds looking as though they'd actually managed no sleep at all.

"I don't believe him," Hermione gritted through her teeth as they packed up. "How can he be so utterly _blind_ – and – and _pompous!_"

"We've been trying to tell you for years," said Fred knowingly from behind her. "But you didn't listen."

"And to think you wanted to be like him one day," George added with an insufferable smirk.

Hermione shot a deadly glare backward at the two of them, but neither so much as blinked.

Mr. Weasley interrupted their little altercation and told them he'd managed to get them on the next portkey back - possibly saving the twins from the grim fate Hermione was cooking up in her mind.

She went back to assist Ginny with her things (the youngest Weasley was something of a packrat packer) and they made their way to the portkey area. A very long, worried line had gathered there.

"Right there, Arthur," said a tired-looking employee. A few people in the line looked at them hostilely as they touched their fingers to the old rubber tire, but no one said anything (or if they did, it was after they left).

They touched down feeling much heavier of spirit than they'd left. The walk home was utterly silent.

The arrival there, however, was quite noisy.

"Thank _goodness!_"

Mrs. Weasley rushed from the house, looking incredibly relieved, and engulfed the Weasleys like a red-haired tornado. She murmured things along the lines of "so _worried!_" and "could have been _killed!_". Mostly little fragments of sentences, but all with the same breathy gasps of self-reassurance.

"We're _fine_, Mum," Bill said with something akin to amusement in his voice. Charlie, with a bandaged cheek, was more silent – Hermione noticed that his arms were tight about his mother, and that he was whispering reassurances in her ear.

"_Mortal peril,_" Mrs. Weasley cried, and Hermione, as she walked dully inside the house, looked up to the clock, half expecting it to still be pointing straight upward. But no – it was currently reading "home".

Harry walked in behind her; he went straight up the stairs to his room.

Hermione shook her head once, and thought about doing the same. But the full gravity of the situation she'd almost been in finally hit her, and instead she sat down heavily in a chair in the empty kitchen.

Her eyes drifted downward to the table top, where lay, open, an issue of the "Daily Prophet".

**_SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP._**

Her brow furrowed. She focused on it and began to read.

"_Several bodies… removed from the woods…_" she muttered to herself. Hermione blinked, then felt a momentary shudder wrack her body as she imagined – her own glassy eyes, staring into nothing – her skin blistered and torn by the spells Deatheaters had once used…

_"Dead… he's not dead, he's **not**…"_

She only barely remembered to breathe. Hermione choked on the air, then pushed her chair away from the table, feeling suddenly nauseous.

"Yeah. Rita Skeeter's quite the little conspiracy writer, isn't she?"

Charlie's unhappy voice from behind her startled Hermione into stumbling back forward into the table. She banged her shin on the chair and hissed in startled pain.

"Sorry," he muttered. She heard a slight grin in his voice as she sat back down, pushing the paper away from her.

Hermione turned around in the seat to look at him. He had been looking over her shoulder, she assumed, but was now looking down at the floor with his hands in his pockets.

"You mean… the person that wrote this article?" Hermione asked.

He nodded. "Always coming up with things that don't exist." Charlie paused. "One of the best pieces of advice I can give you is to completely ignore anything she writes. It's all lies – every last sentence."

Hermione sighed and leaned back, feeling slightly better. "I've met people like that before. Don't worry – she used a lot of little warning signals that showed it was fake."

Charlie _did_ grin now. "Sharp, Hermione," he said, though she thought she heard a tiny note of good-natured condescension in his voice. "Even mother hasn't figured Rita Skeeter out yet."

Hermione shrugged uncomfortably.

Charlie rubbed at his forehead, then blinked at her as though he'd just realized something. "You haven't slept, have you? Shouldn't you get some sleep?"

At this reminder, Hermione felt the weight of two very sleepless nights settle on her, and she yawned widely. "Yes, I suppose I should," she muttered. "Well. Don't expect to see me until tonight, I guess."

She trudged up the stairs heavily, blinking rapidly to keep herself awake along the way. Just as she was opening the door to her borrowed room, she heard someone behind her and turned around.

Fred and George were moving toward their own room, up the stairs. George stopped to regard her with a strange look as Fred kept going.

"Er…" he seemed to grasp for words. Hermione didn't blame him – they were all much too tired to articulate above a third grade level.

"You all right?" he asked finally.

She yawned again, but smiled tiredly. "A little sleepy, but otherwise perfectly fine." Hermione paused, just for a second, as she thought over the past night.

"George…" she said uncomfortably. "Thanks. For getting me out of there. I appreciate it."

The vision of what could have happened to her returned, and she restrained the urge to say, _I appreciate it **immensely**, I might have died like Harry, like Fred, like everyone else that will die…_

George shrugged, his eyes downcast. "Yes, well," he said, "who else is going to make sure you lot don't go and get yourselves killed?"

Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat at the thought. "Don't ever say that again," she whispered, unable to stop herself.

At his startled expression, she added, "Please."

He opened his mouth to speak-

Hermione pretended not to see him and shut the door of her room behind her.

000000

The next week passed very strangely for Hermione. On the one hand, she desperately wanted to get back to Hogwarts – to safety and normalcy and her own dorm – but on the other, she felt strangely frightened at the thought of seeing Malfoy and company every day again.

At some point, she asked Harry whether she might use Hedwig for a few days. He shrugged and said something along the lines of 'I don't have anyone I really _have_ to owl, so yeah – if you can get her to, that is'.

Hedwig was, apparently, very content with sitting in one place for a good amount of time. It took Hermione more than a few owl treats to coax her out.

"Oh _please_, Hedwig," she asked with the most desperate expression she could manage (quite desperate, as it turned out). Hedwig gave what seemed to be a very resigned owlish sigh and nipped at her finger (perhaps a bit harder than necessary). Hermione let out her breath in a relieved way and ran for her parchment and quill.

Then stopped to chew on the end of it as she realized she hadn't even begun to contemplate what she was going to write.

She finally settled on a very simple note.

_S,_

_Don't know if you're aware – the Quidditch World Cup had a little riot of Deatheaters. Not certain whether they're real or not. Everyone's fine, but I'm a little tired, so this may be short._

She hesitated a moment before writing the next part. She had quite a bit of experience with Sirius' quick reactions and 'to hell with thinking about it' ideas. Eventually, though, she guiltily decided that he would want to know.

_Harry had some kind of dream about You-Know-Who. He's planning something – well, it might have been the World Cup, but I doubt it. And he's murdered someone – or he will murder someone. Harry's not certain. _

Hermione felt the sudden urge to confess how terrified she'd been, both at Harry's dream and at the World Cup. How utterly frightened and shivery she'd felt and how much she'd wanted to simply curl up in a corner and hide herself in a hole and never have to worry about people trying to hurt her or anyone else ever again. How she'd been knocked from her feet just moments later, and come up feeling tired and nauseous-

But the impulse passed while her quill quivered over the page, and instead she wrote the following:

_Ron was distraught at the news, I think, but he's looking much better. Harry looks troubled, but otherwise fine. I think he's trying to remember more, but Dumbledore might want to know what he has come up with. Would it be possible for you to let him know or should I tell him? I'd rather not, I think. It seems wrong for me to tell anyone else about Harry._

_Perhaps I will see you at Hogwarts. I hope so._

_Regards,_

_H_

She wasn't entirely sure what had made her tack on the last part. Once she gave the letter to Hedwig (who eyed her unhappily before flapping away), she felt an unaccountable terror that he might take it the wrong way. What wrong way he might take it, she wasn't certain – but the feeling was there, nonetheless. If she could call back Hedwig and scratch it out, she had a feeling she might.

One day while Hermione was sitting at the window, waiting for an answer and worrying, Mrs. Weasley knocked at her door and brought in her things from Diagon Alley. She mentioned something about dress robes, and said that Hermione's were absolutely beautiful and (if she were fourteen again) she might wear them herself.

Hermione thanked her and thought, inwardly, in a strangely fierce way: _almost fifteen._

But when she looked through the bags and found the dress, all such thoughts fled her.

They _were_ beautiful. And – oh - they were her favorite color. Blue. A shimmery, floaty, gorgeous blue.

Later that night, when Ginny came in, Hermione asked her blushingly whether she might help her try the robes on, maybe do something with her hair and see how everything looked. Ginny obligingly gushed over the idea and helped her dress, even twisted her hair into a bun (it took an hour of effort, and Hermione let her know that she was eternally grateful) then added just a hint of blush to her cheeks.

"You look amazing, Hermione," Ginny managed, looking shocked. "No, really, come over here and look-"

Hermione expected that she was exaggerating things, of course, but nothing could have prepared her for what she saw in the mirror.

There was a woman there. An adult Hermione Granger, scraggly hair pulled from her eyes – her _eyes_, they were so pretty when the hair wasn't in front of them! – and apparently blue really _did_ suit her, because the dress was accentuating curves she didn't know she _had_.

"Oh _Ginny,_" Hermione said in a voice thick with something inexplicable. "I- I look-"

"Amazing," Ginny finished, sounding satisfied. "I _told_ you. Oh, just wait until Harry and Ron get a look at you, their _expressions…_"

She trailed off as though suddenly thinking of something. Hermione turned around to see Ginny blushing furiously.

"Do you… do you think we could do me next?" Ginny asked hopefully. "I know it probably won't make much of a difference, but…"

Hermione hastened to reassure her that she would look very nice in her dress robes – she spent the rest of the night doing all of the girlish things she'd ever imagined she might stomach and actually _enjoying_ them as they turned Ginny into something quite different from her normal self – then botched her makeup and turned her into a clown.

Hermione apologized profusely, but Ginny merely laughed and said that she just needed a little more practice with makeup.

As Hermione took off her dress robes and folded them carefully into her trunk, finally getting around to packing it (as she was supposed to have done much earlier) Ginny confided to her that her mother had said something about how Ginny may or may not end up actually using her robes.

That night, when Hermione slid into bed tiredly, she began to wonder how Sirius might react. He'd always made it a game of teasing her about her age, but with that dress on…

When she woke up in the morning to a tapping at her window, the question was still stewing in her mind.


	7. Return to Hogwarts

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

Well, wasn't going to have this upcoming H/G moment in here, but Bik was having a bad day and she needed cheering stuff… so yes. Here.

Also, very, very, very, very good reasons that I have been too busy to post. And they are reasons I'm really not ever going to share, so you'll just have to believe me.

**Chapter 6 – Return to Hogwarts**

"A man's homeland is wherever he prospers."  
**-Aristophanes**

_H,_ the letter read.

_Of course I heard about the World Cup. It's hard not to, it's publicized just about everywhere in the Wizarding World at the moment, though obviously I can't tell you exactly where I am. More importantly, are you sure you're all right? And Harry, he's not hurt at all?_

Hermione tried not to be too exasperated with Sirius as she read the letter – she'd already emphasized that everyone was perfectly fine.

_Dumbledore is now aware of Harry's dream – I'm surprised he didn't owl someone himself. I'd really like to hear about these kinds of things earlier from now on. Could you possibly get him to send something to Moony next time?_

Again, she felt slightly irritated at the fact that she'd already told Harry something of the sort. She wasn't sure _why_ she was irritated that Sirius had had the same idea, but maybe it was more the fact that he hadn't given her credit for already thinking of it.

_And you're sure you're all right?_

She rolled her eyes.

_Just checking.__ For god's sake, try to stay out of trouble from now on. Dumbledore's been hinting something interesting is going to happen at Hogwarts, and I'm not entirely comfortable with his idea of interesting. In point of fact – keep Harry out of it too, whatever it is. He has a knack for getting into these things. _

_And while officially I'm going to be somewhere south of the equator this year, I hope you'll forgive me if I defy expectations and stop by for a while sometime._

_-S_

Hermione remembered suddenly that he'd been spotted in Albania.

Had that been a trick? Or had he really been there, right near where Harry's dream had mentioned…

She frowned and absently tore the letter into pieces.

000000

In what seemed like no time at all, she was being woken up again and pushed out the door with a bit of breakfast and a packed sandwich. They took a taxi to the train station this time (the poor, poor driver), and Hermione felt surreal as she found herself once again looking at the Hogwarts Express.

"Hurry up, dear!" Mrs. Weasley was gasping to one of her children. "Do write every once in a while."

Charlie grinned at Ginny as he gave her a last hug goodbye. "I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," he said with a wink.

"Sort of wish _I_ were back at Hogwarts this year…" Bill muttered wistfully, while Ginny pulled a confused face.

Fred turned to look at him with an unhappy expression. "_Why_ won't anyone tell us what that _means?_" he asked frustratedly.

Bill chuckled. "Oh, don't worry about it. It'll be a nice surprise."

Hermione decided not to get involved. Honestly, she rather doubted she could handle many more surprises.

Fred and Ron sulked on their way into the train with near identical expressions. George looked like he was trying a little too hard not to be amused.

They took a compartment together this time – the summer had been a little overwhelming, and she had the feeling they were grouping together for comfort.

Harry slid into the seat beside her while Ginny closed the door.

"It isn't fair," Ron complained, plopping himself down on the floor in front of her and crossing his legs.

"You can say that again," Fred muttered. "They've been hinting about it all _summer!_"

"Oh, you'll find out soon, I would guess," Hermione said comfortingly, patting Ron on the head. "Bill and Charlie wouldn't get you all excited over something that'll happen half a year from now."

Ron pulled his head back to make a face at her. "_Percy_ would."

Hermione tried very hard not to laugh at his awkward position, but a few giggles escaped her control – and then.

The compartment door opened.

"Well, well, look what we have here…"

Hermione's snapped her head around to stare at the pale, pointed face that was surveying their car with disgust.

"I really do pity you Weasels," Malfoy said with a grimace on his face, "having to share a single compartment – and look, this must be the trash car! You've also got the Potty and the Mudblo-"

Hermione blinked as a violent flash of light burst through the car – as her eyes began to clear, she saw that Malfoy had disappeared. Where he'd once stood, Crabbe and Goyle were looking through air, blinking.

Harry and Ron both had their wands out – but she hadn't heard a word from either. Hermione looked about in confusion.

George and Ginny were staring at each other in surprise.

The next instant, invariably, everyone found themselves staring at the Malfoy on the floor.

"Huh. That looks nasty," Ron commented, very little concern in his voice.

"Yeah," said Ginny, "who'd have thought… straw-bind and fungus curse…"

Naturally, Crabbe and Goyle were moving into the car now. Hermione found herself stuck in a corner as the already cramped compartment admitted two more bulky people. Someone threw a punch at Goyle – she couldn't see who, from here – and someone else's elbow dug into her rib. A crack and a yelp alerted her that someone had probably broken their nose.

"Oh for heaven's sake-" she muttered as Harry stepped backward into her. She pulled her wand and swished it through the air a few times, feeling awful about breaking the rules as she did so. McGonagall would be so disappointed in her for getting into a fight…

A hiss of air and a pair of screams resounded through their little room. The next instant, the train door was closed, and she heard hurried footsteps retreating back through the train.

Hermione sat down heavily; as she turned back around to face the center, she noticed that Harry was rubbing at his arm and George was grinning widely through the blood that ran down his face.

Fred was looking at him funnily.

"We could've just fed him a toffee," he said. "And avoided the whole… fight thing."

George shrugged and replaced his wand in his robe's pocket. He lifted up his head and pinched his fingers about his nose – Ginny handed him a handkerchief. "It was worth it," he replied. "More satisfying." Then, with a grin: "Although we can still feed him a toffee, too."

Hermione blinked and pushed her hand into her pocket, where she'd put the candy Fred had given her. She'd figured it was silly to pack it in a suitcase when it was so small…

She thought now that maybe it might be a nice thing to keep around. Just… in case.

Of course, as she was currently envisioning some horrid demise for Malfoy, 'in case' would probably end up turning into 'in case Malfoy showed up'.

Ron moved to check Ginny, and Hermione, feeling somewhat obligated, told George that he really ought to hold himself forward instead of looking up, so he didn't make himself sick.

"Oh come on," he said, waving his hand. "I know what I'm doing." As he let go of his nose, though, a trickle of blood escaped his nose. At her sardonically raised eyebrow, he dropped his head back to eye level.

Hermione stowed her own wand and pulled out a book to read.

000000

After the train's arrival on the school grounds, the group exited their compartment together, Ron looking around eagerly for Malfoy to see him publicly humiliated by his condition. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to catch sight of him because a miserable, hazy gray drizzle had begun, and was obscuring all other students – but on the up side, George's nose had stopped bleeding.

"Alrigh', into the carriages with yeh older ones!" Hagrid's voice boomed over the crowd. "Firs' years over here!"

Harry looked over at Hagrid with disappointment – obviously, he'd wanted to say hello, but because of the rain, the students were being rushed through to the castle.

"You'll get to see him during the feast, surely," Hermione offered sympathetically.

He shrugged, but looked much more cheerful as he caught sight of the warm, dry horseless carriages headed their way.

Ron grabbed hold of one of Hermione and Harry's arms each and made a run for one. Hermione opened her mouth to scold him playfully – but stopped as something flickered at the edge of her vision.

_"I can see every single damn one now… do you know what that's like?"_

She gaped, eyes wide, as Ron dragged her into the carriage triumphantly. Because, for just an instant, she could have _sworn_… but no, that was impossible. The horseless carriages were _horseless._

"Hermione?" Harry's voice cut through her thoughts. "Are you all right?"

She blinked, then shook her head. "I'm… fine. I just thought I saw something strange, for a minute."

Ron snorted, wiping his face with the hem of his robes. "What, Malfoy not being a git? Or were you talking about something a little less unlikely?"

This led, ultimately, to discussion of what had happened on the train – and from there, it degenerated into insults and spells they'd each like to throw at Malfoy.

At the point where Ron muttered "Body-twisting hex," the carriage stopped.

Hermione shivered as they stepped down from the carriage – she swung her head to look at the front, where a normal carriage might have horses. There was nothing.

Her hand clenched at the timeturner beneath her robes, and she silently cursed it, knowing it had something to do with the strange vision.

_"…such a horrible place to live, I wish I could just go back in time…"_

Hermione let go of the timeturner as though it were scalding.

She realized with not a little bit of fright that she was beginning to agree with herself.

Just as this disturbing thought hit her, something else did as well.

Specifically, a water balloon.

_"Peeves!"_ McGonagall's voice roared. Hermione saw her shaking her fist at the ghost, glasses askew on her face, with one hand on the wall to keep her from falling.

The poltergeist cackled and threw a few more water balloons while Hermione shook herself off under the entryway, shivering unhappily.

"Come on, we'll get you some hot chocolate," Harry offered, dodging another water balloon himself. "I'm sure the feast hall will have some."

As they worked their way through the crowd of students and into the Great Hall, Hermione remembered she was a witch.

She dried herself off with her wand irritably, then repeated the gesture at her bewildered pair of friends. Ron's particularly guilty expression cued her to the fact that he thought he ought to know the charm, but had probably not been listening in class when it was taught. Truthfully, it was on this coming year's curriculum – Hermione had looked over it religiously the week before.

"Ah, Harry!"

She started at the familiar voice and turned to see – of all people – dear old Professor Lupin striding toward them.

Immediately, she picked up on a few differences. He was just a little less tired, a little more enthusiastic. Hermione found herself wondering if he'd seen Sirius at all over the summer.

"Professor!" Harry greeted back, looking much happier now. "So you _did_ make it back!"

Lupin smiled as he stopped in front of the three of them. "Yes, it would seem so. Professor Trelawny has been casting aspersions on how long I'll last, however."

Hermione made a face at the mention of one of her least favorite professors, but said nothing on the subject. It seemed to draw Lupin's attention to her, however.

"And how have you been, Hermione?" he asked graciously. "I do hope you had a nice summer."

She thought back on the attacks at the World Cup and felt her enthusiasm at being back at Hogwarts diminish somewhat. "It was certainly eventful," she said evasively, knowing he had probably gotten the whole story anyway.

Lupin turned to Ron now. "And I assume you've finished your Defense Against the Dark Arts homework over the summer, Mr. Weasley?" he asked, eyes dancing in amusement.

Ron coughed and looked at the table in front of him. "Of course." Meaning he would start it that very night.

Lupin looked past him suddenly – the doors of the Great Hall had opened, and Hermione turned her head to see a line of very wet, ragged-looking first years file in. One was nearly lost in the sea that was Hagrid's moleskin coat.

The professor winked. "That's my cue to go sit down," he said. "I'll see you all in class very soon."

As he walked back to the front of the room, Hermione realized that the seats at the tables were being very quickly taken – she urged Harry and Ron onward to find a spot near the rest of the Weasleys. Ginny waved her over enthusiastically and she ended up sitting sandwiched between her and Harry. Fred and George, across from them, were planning something between them, their voices just barely audible over the loud chatter in the Hall. Hermione decided she really didn't want to know _what_ they were planning, even and especially if it was going to involve _her_.

She turned her attention to George now, wondering vaguely what he'd managed to figure out over the course of the summer. He was much more intelligent than she'd once given him credit for – or perhaps it wasn't that he was _more_ intelligent than Fred, but more applied. Fred could probably care less if she was housing a murderer as long as she fixed his formulae.

Just as it hit her that that had been a very unfair thought, Hermione realized that she _knew_ which one Fred was.

Her eyes narrowed and she tried to think back to when, exactly, she'd been able to tell the difference between them.

"Hermione," Ron hissed, poking her shoulder from across Harry. "Are you paying attention at _all_?"

She blinked – then realized that the Sorting Hat had not only finished its song, but also sorted most of the first years out by now. She caught the tail end (a "Whitby, Kevin!" in "HUFFLEPUFF!") but turned back to stare at the table cloth, her chin balanced on her twined fingers.

Dumbledore was saying something behind her, but she didn't hear the words.

Something was wrong, had _been_ wrong, and she didn't know what it was.

"Well you heard the man – _tuck in!_" Ron was saying cheerfully. Hermione snapped from her trance and looked up at the appearing food.

"Oh, leave me at least _one_ bread roll," she complained at the two boys to her right, moving to grab one for herself.

000000

As soon as the large congregation of students finished their meals, the food was whisked away, and Dumbledore stood once more.

Hermione normally paid due attention to him. She didn't know why she was having so much trouble doing it tonight.

"Thank god the dementors are gone proper now," Ron muttered beside her, but she paid it surprisingly little attention.

She felt…

Strange.

As though she were supposed to be doing something, but wasn't sure what it was.

_"What?"_ Ron hissed in surprise. She blinked and turned her attention back to the speech, only to see that Harry, too, was gripping the table edge with white knuckles.

"Cancel _Quidditch?_" George said in a shocked voice.

"He _wouldn't!_" said Fred.

Dumbledore, however, was smiling. "It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year," he said, eyes twinkling.

"You're JOKING!" Fred burst out, perhaps a little too loudly.

Dumbledore's smile didn't waver. "I am _not_ joking, Mr. Weasley," he said – but the rest was drowned out by Ron's hurried whispers to Harry, which Hermione shamelessly eavesdropped on.

_"Triwizard Tournament_, Harry, do you think he's _serious_?"

Harry looked unabashedly confused. "Er… Ron?" he said.

The red headed boy blinked before an expression of understanding dawned on his face. "Oh. Right. Three champions, different schools – but it's _big_ prize money, Harry- can you imagine _winning_ it-?"

It was at that moment Hermione got a very bad feeling about what was to come.


	8. The Unforgivables

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

Questions, questions…

1) Again, I repeat myself: Sirius is a ways away. But there are letters. And when he does get here, he is every bit as fun as you might imagine. Things will get intense.

…in about 7 chapters or so.

2) Ginny is a teen girl, but she's been fairly well raised. I just can't see her as a frothing "OMG Harry's MINE, and LoLz arn't I PRETTY!11!" idiot…I just got a vision in my head, and I'm shutting up now.

3) Remus never got exposed – therefore, Hogwarts. P As for your other questions… see below.

4) Barty Crouch may or may not make an appearance. Maybe he already has. Or maybe, I'm just playing with your mind. PSYCH!

5) As I said before, George is an important part of this story. He'll be in it a lot. In what ways, you'll just have to wait and find out.

6) Age-wise, I was really confuzzled at about 3 am when I figured it all out. Sorry – it's sixteen, then. I'll see about changing it at some point when I have the time.

7) Triwizard Tournament… read.

8) Kidnapping. Bah. It's been done. (Therefore, I may do it anyway and just twist it around a bit P)

9) Alas, I too have a love for AlmostRedeemed!Malfoy. That particular variation of him will probably be making at least one more appearance. And then some.

**Chapter 7 – The Unforgivables**

"Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper or your self-confidence."  
**-Robert Frost**

Once in her dormitory, Hermione should have slept well. She was back in her 'normal' bed, in the school she loved, with the people she cared about. Instead, she spent the night worrying: about the Tournament, about Sirius, and Voldemort, and Harry, and every possible thing that could creep into her mind. The result, unfortunately, was that she got very little sleep.

Her dreams, such as they were, were convoluted and confusing. Harry, running from some unknown spectre and into the arms of a murderer. Ron standing off to the side, unconcerned as he died. Fred and blood from somewhere, she wasn't sure – and then, a loud siren, wailing their doom to the world-

Hermione gasped awake and realized it was her alarm clock. And that it had been going off for about twenty minutes.

It was not an auspicious start to her school year to wake up late.

Despite this, she managed somehow to get herself dressed and preened, and even to grab a slice of toast on the way to getting her new schedule. It worried her that she hadn't had much of a chance to look it over, but as it turned out, her first day was fairly easy.

Hermione hurried over to the fourth year greenhouse, relieved she wouldn't have to time-turn until Arithmancy after lunch.

000000

She needn't have worried about her first day. It turned out to be fairly interesting, and neither of her first two classes gave homework.

But though her schoolwork was less than usual, her stress level was well beyond normal. She toyed with the idea of going to the library to research a few important things, but decided against it as she remembered the room behind the wall. For some reason, the idea of visiting it very much appealed to her at the moment.

She turned about sharply on her heel, hugging her books to her chest and looking about quickly for people in the corridor before making a beeline for the moving staircases.

After skipping a trick step and jumping a small gap between two finicky staircases, she found herself staring at the solid stone wall. Her heart, strangely, was flip-flopping in her stomach. Perhaps because it seemed so unreal, to finally be back at the place she'd left so long ago.

And finally, surreally, her hand reached out to brush the cold stone and she whispered the word – _"Patesco"_.

The cold feel of the rock was still there; but as she hesitantly pressed her palm forward into it, the wall fell away before her.

Hermione stepped inside slowly, not certain what exactly to expect.

She found herself unbearably disappointed.

It was dark – completely so, the kind of darkness that hadn't been disturbed for months. And as she lit her wand gently, she saw that it was very dusty, as the house elves hadn't cleaned it a bit (not knowing it existed, naturally).

Hermione walked over to the couch and sat down heavily, feeling suddenly lost, though she knew it was better that Sirius remain where he was.

Perhaps she'd been hoping for his familiar presence – it was comforting, after all, to know there was always someone to ask questions of, someone to put things together for her. Someone that didn't talk down to her (not anymore) and someone that knew how to take care of dangerous things…

Hermione sighed and buried her face in her hands tiredly. Since when had she become so reliant on Sirius Black?

Probably since he'd first shown up. Since there had first been things she'd felt she couldn't handle on her own. Because the previous year had come with the realization that those things did indeed exist.

For just a short amount of time, she allowed herself to sit on the couch and brood. But eventually, she realized it wasn't at all like her, and she decided to do something useful.

Hermione rolled up her sleeves and looked around the room, stripped of the necessities it had once held.

If Sirius Black _did_ come back, he would have a welcoming place to stay.

000000

Hermione discovered, to her great unhappiness, that Snape was in rare form to teach Potions. That was to say, he was worse that usual.

After he docked Harry ten points for a bad potion and sneered at her for being, in his words, 'disgustingly arrogant', she decided it had something to do with Lupin's continued presence at the school and his failure once again to secure the Dark Arts job.

Hermione was therefore feeling quite ready to go to Lupin's next class as Thursday's Defense Against the Dark Arts class approached.

She would retract that mental statement before the end of said class.

As they filed inside, she caught sight of Harry and Ron at their old desks – Hermione slid into her own, beside them, wondering where the Professor was.

"I've heard this first class is interesting," Ron said excitedly. "I guess he must've decided to start us out with a bang!"

Harry grinned, and Hermione remembered how well he'd done on the last year's exam. Defense Against the Dark Arts, at least when Lupin taught it, was Harry's favorite class.

The so-named man walked down into the classroom from his office then, and Hermione felt her own growing excitement drain away slowly. It was hard to put her finger on the feeling – but she had the idea that he was not looking forward to teaching this coming lesson near as much as the students were looking forward to learning it.

"Please put your wands away, for today," he said. Ron looked disappointed, but Harry complied quickly, his eyes never leaving the professor.

Hermione felt a drop in her stomach, like a lead weight.

"I am not certain what you all have heard about what you are going to learn," he said quietly. "But it is not something I derive any pleasure from teaching, and before we start, I must impress upon you its importance."

Ron was looking almost crestfallen at this point. Hermione was certain he was anticipating bookwork.

"What I am about to show you is not a circus show – it is not something to be gawked at or laughed at. Do you understand me?"

Hermione was one of the first to tentatively nod her head. When the rest of the class saw that he was actually awaiting a response, they did so as well.

"What do you think he's _talking_ about?" asked Ron, sounding slightly frustrated now. Hermione hushed him, a trembling memory coming to the forefront.

"Last year, this class had to be caught up on magical creatures. As a result, I'm afraid your awareness of curses and hexes has suffered. I will be showing you how to use and block these – but today, you will be learning about three in particular that you will never use." His eyes settled on Hermione, and she noticed that they were very, very tired. For some reason, they made her remember.

_"Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus…"_

_"The Unforgivables."_

And one of them had been used on _her._

She began to shake as she thought of what he'd said. He was going to show them. Why was he going to show them?

"If any of you have any qualms whatsoever with witnessing the Unforgivables, you are hereby allowed to leave for a short study hall," he said quietly, confirming her suspicions.

Metal scratched against tile, and she somehow knew (how?) that Neville Longbottom had just fled the room.

Lupin closed his eyes wearily, and she noticed that his right hand was flexing as though he wished to rub at his temple with it.

"Who can tell me the three Unforgivables?" he asked in his soft voice. Hermione shuddered as she anticipated the answer – but silence reigned in the room.

She realized with foreboding that _no one knew._

"Cruciatus," she said quaveringly, in a voice barely audible. She didn't bother to raise her hand.

_"Oh, don't worry… no one will think anything of your screams – you see, this place is supposed to be haunted…"_

Lupin looked at her with a pained expression on his face.

"Imperius."

_"Oh dear.__ My shoes are seeming slightly dirty. Perhaps you should shine them, like a good little mudblood."_

_"What are you doing?"_ A panicked, familiar voice. One that was familiar, but how did she _know_ it- _"You can't- **Dumbledore**- you'll go to **Azkaban**-"_

It seemed wrong, and she frowned. Because the Imperius had never been used on her, but she so clearly _remembered_… there was floating, and then pain, as she resisted…

"The third, Miss Granger?" Lupin said, though she saw that it was costing him much to do so.

She shoved aside the misplaced memory – and looked up with a taut expression.

"_Avada Kedavra_," she whispered.

_Green light.__ Fractured glasses and pale green skin, so very cold…_

Hermione became aware that the whole class was now staring at her. It wasn't anything new – whenever she answered a particularly obscure question, it happened. But Ron and Harry, in particular, were looking concerned.

Lupin ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "Ten points to Gryffindor," he said hollowly. And then… he walked over to his desk, to pull out a jar with a tiny spider struggling inside it.

"May I be excused?" Hermione asked, suddenly feeling sick.

She knew what those curses could do. She didn't need to see them. Not again.

Lupin waved a hand weakly, and she bolted out the door.

Suddenly, more than anything else, Hermione wished that Sirius Black was there.

And as she raced through the halls, a room firm in mind and a cool darkness awaiting her, she noticed the obstacle in her path too late.

There was a sharp collision – a gasp of exhaled breath – she hit the ground full on her back, her bag skittering away toward the wall, and heard someone mutter a curse.

"Would you watch where you're- _Hermione?_"

"Leave me alone," she said in a small voice, knowing before she looked. Staring at a blossoming bruise upon her knee.

"What's _wrong?_" George said. She knew it was him. How she knew was still a mystery, and not at all important at the moment

"Leave me alone," she repeated, getting to her feet. She wanted to pick up her bag and go to the dark, enclosed room, and stay there until Sirius reappeared. She wanted to ask him why Lupin thought it was necessary to not only teach them what the curses were, but _show_ them – why he would do it, if he hated the thought so very much…

She could feel the pain still. Unbearable, wrenching, brutal pain, the kind she'd never before felt and had thought she never would again. But then he'd recast the spell, and afterward, she'd felt she might let herself die with the scent of Sirius about her and never let it hurt so badly ever again…

Hermione realized she was breathing shallowly, holding back tears.

George's hands moved to her shoulders, and she felt herself sway slightly.

"I'm feeling sick," she somehow managed. "Professor Lupin let me leave."

Sometimes, she felt she had lied her whole life.

"Oh," George said, and she thought he sounded slightly disappointed. "So you didn't get to see the lesson?"

Hermione choked, her arms moving to clasp together, and she felt her knees buckle. George moved with her, catching her.

"So you really _are_ sick," he said, sounding amazed. "Usually, they're faking… but I guess you wouldn't do that, would you?"

"_Get_ to see the lesson?" she asked in a high voice, ignoring him. "Why- why would I _want_ to see- _that!_"

George looked confused as she brought her eyes to his face. "We're talking about the same thing, right?" he asked. "I know Lupin said he was going to show all the years but seventh, because they'd already-"

"The Unforgivables!" she said hoarsely, ripping herself from his grasp. "_Yes!_"

He stared at her for a moment, as though trying to make sense of the situation. He seemed to come up blank, too confused to understand her.

"Do you… want me to take you to the hospital wing?" he asked her carefully.

She turned on her heel and picked up her bag, head down. And before he could say another word, she began to stride away – where to, she wasn't sure, but it would very certainly be somewhere far away from George Weasley.

000000

When Hermione made her way back to the commonroom later that night, the first, very welcome sight she came upon was Harry and Ron making up dire predictions for their Divination homework.

Ron looked up as Hermione walked carefully over, her bag slung over her shoulder.

"Hermione!" he said, sounding surprised. "Hey, sorry you had to run – did you throw up or something? You missed the lesson-"

"I didn't want to see it," she said sharply. Ron looked immediately chagrined.

"I wasn't suggesting you did," he offered uneasily. "It's just… you _never_ miss class unless you can help it…"

Fred and George were sitting across the room. They had stopped talking, but she saw them now, out of the corner of her eye.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said in a low voice. "We understand."

She realized belatedly that he, too, had had very good reasons to not want to watch the demonstration.

"Oh Harry," she said weakly. "I'm so sorry- I didn't think to warn you-"

"Don't worry," her friend sighed. "I think I had to see it. There are… just some things you have to do. To really understand."

Ron looked away toward the floor, and Hermione had the feeling that he'd already had this conversation with Harry. Perhaps not really understanding, at first… but Ron was like that. More importantly, he was always very contrite and understanding, after the fact.

"Hey, Hermione!" Fred called. "You see George on your way out of class? McGonagall sent him out, she was _furious-_"

"It was _your_ dung bomb," George said sourly. But Hermione knew, without turning around, that he was looking straight at her.

"I'm going to do my homework in my dormitory," she said quietly. "I'll feel better after I'm done, probably."

She trudged up the stairs without another word.


	9. Imperio

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

Answers to the people what ask the questions…

1) I probably shouldn't even bother answering this, but, eh. Not all fanfiction deals with the main character (gasp!shock!) and actually, a great deal of it doesn't even mention Harry Potter. I'm going to take this to mean you just haven't read a lot of it.

2) You'll find the answer to the Malfoy memory question this chapter. Like _that_ isn't giving anything away.

3) Hermione would hardly know if any other Order members knew (she doesn't even really know about the Order yet, after all) and as it's from her point of view… neither do you.

4) Hermione independently researched a little wizarding law and Dumbledore later said they would do their best. That's about all the plan entails. Though NNNGH, I want to say more.

Here we go. Strap yourselves in tightly and keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle (though you can always stick your head out).

**Chapter 8 – Imperio**

"Remember when life's path is steep to keep your mind even."  
**-Horace**

Over the next few weeks, Hermione noticed quite keenly that George was avoiding her. She didn't blame him, but at the same time, she felt an awful disappointment in him. For some reason, perhaps because of his father's position, she'd expected him to understand. What the curses really _were,_ the kind of people that used them…

The bright spot in these bleak and furiously busy days, though, was Arithmancy. Her teacher had brightly informed her the first day that she, unlike the other students, would have an entire extra year to prepare for her OWLs. She would be allowed to take them her fifth year, as usual, but would have the special advantage of being a year ahead.

This inspired a feverish need in Hermione to do well in the class – even beyond her normal appetite for learning – and Harry and Ron began complaining that she was spending too much time studying. She may have said something slightly waspish to Ron at that, but she assured herself afterward that it was for a good cause.

And then, just as she was settling into a routine of ignoring George, ignoring Sirius, and ignoring everything but her schoolwork, she was disrupted.

Because when Lupin came into class with the same tired expression, she _knew._

"Today," he said quietly, his hands clenched white on the railing of the stairs, "I will be putting you each under the Imperius Curse."

Hermione clenched her hands in her lap tightly. "That's illegal," she said, without looking up.

Lupin smiled tightly. "Yes, it would be normally. But it has been decided that you should know what it feels like, and what its signs are. Therefore, I will be asking you all to watch your fellow students as they are commanded to perform everyday things – there will be a foot and a half tonight on the signs of the Curse."

A few groans arose about the room, but Hermione could still feel the palpable excitement at the idea of getting to try something so forbidden…

Couldn't they see what this meant? Or even what it was doing to their teacher, to have to show them…

Lupin was kneeling at her desk now, hands on the edge.

"I will understand if you wish not to do this," he said gently. "If I could, I myself would leave."

But Hermione felt something inside her stiffen irrationally – _Harry, staring blankly, green tinted; Harry, unmoving and bleeding and **dead**…_

"No," she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. "No, I- I have to do this."

Lupin sighed and rose to his feet once more, calling the class to attention.

And then, the lesson began.

Dean Thomas spun around exactly three times counter-clockwise, and then three more clockwise. He sat down looking puzzled and slightly disturbed. Lavender Brown climbed atop a desk and jumped off of it nimbly. Neville began reciting what was unmistakably a Shakespearean sonnet.

And then.

"Harry?" Lupin said quietly, sounding uncertain.

Hermione watched him get up slowly, out of the corner of her eye. He seemed grim, and somehow determined.

She watched with horrified fascination as Lupin resignedly pointed his wand at his best friend's son and said, "_Imperio._"

"Would you please raise your right hand in the air, Harry?" Lupin asked softly.

Harry… hesitated.

His right hand twitched.

"I asked you to please raise your right hand," Lupin repeated. Hermione could tell he thought that Harry couldn't hear him. Which was ridiculous, of course, because the commands were partially mental…

Harry's hand twitched again, but he didn't move it.

The class had begun to stare at him, incredulous. Dean's eyes opened wide in amazement. He let out a low whistle, as Lupin repeated himself once again.

Harry's arm made a strange jerking motion, but only ended up swinging around to grab at a desk.

Lupin let his wand fall away, and Hermione saw that he was looking even more haggard and gray than usual.

"A very good job, Harry," he said, though his eyes were sad. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

Hermione watched her friend sit down, exertion evident on his face, and wondered why she was so certain he'd just worked harder to dispel Lupin's influence than he'd done in his life.

"Hermione," Lupin said then, and again he hesitated. "Are you quite sure you want to do this?"

In answer, she rose from her seat and walked slowly toward the center of the room. She focused her eyes on his wand and said nothing.

"_Imperio._"

The word resounded through her head – a clear, resonant sound that struck at her very soul. But it was infinitely more gentle, this time, as though the man that had uttered it cared only to see that she was listening.

_This time?_

A content, floating feeling – one she had felt before.

**Would you please walk over to Harry's desk, Hermione?**

She felt the urge to do just that take her – and why not, he'd asked politely, and she _knew_ him, he was a very nice person-

No. There was a reason she was fighting. She was sure of it.

Hermione mentally declined – politely, but firmly.

**Walk over to Harry's desk, Hermione.**

Hermione tried to shake her head, but found it was all she could do to stay still. Her muscles trembled.

**Go to his desk.**

To Harry, was the implied meaning. To where he was sitting, watching her with clouded eyes…

_But Harry is dead._

_No,_ she said. "No!"

And suddenly, there was a sharp pain in her knees, and she was gasping on the floor, facing Harry's desk, her palms touching the cold stone.

"No one is certain what criteria distinguish those able to resist the Imperius Curse," Lupin said, sounding incredibly drained. "But I suppose I have to stress that this class seems… unusually resistant to it. Most victims will not even put up a fight."

Hermione breathed deeply, eyes unfocused, thinking of the flash of heart wrenching fear and denial she'd felt.

"People who have been under the Curse before," she rasped. "They also… have some resistance…"

Lupin looked at her sharply, though most of the class was probably disgruntled at the fact that she was _still_ calling out facts.

"Yes," he said. "Over time and prolonged exposure, people do gain resistance. One of the most obvious signs that a victim is fighting the curse is muscle spasms, as you must have noticed. Though these usually occur after at least two weeks."

It had been a good while since her last flight from the class – but Hermione said, "May I please be excused, Professor?"

And again, he let her go.

Hermione stumbled away, as far away as she could.

And she _remembered._

It was hard, at first, to access the memory – it was fuzzy and distorted, and she couldn't see the details. But the seal had broken – some other part of her had rebelled, the same part that pushed away the Imperius, the same part that screamed over and over that Harry and Fred were _dead-_

She leaned against the same wall, in the same hallway – she slid down it slowly and put her face in her hands and cried.

_I have so many memories in me, _she thought desperately. _So many different things that might be true and might have happened and might **still** happen-_

And she understood it all, and it was so frightening. Because Dumbledore knew, and Sirius knew, and Lupin _knew_ that Voldemort was going to come back, or was back, and that the war would start all over again. They were preparing them the only way they knew how.

_But I **know**,_ something in her said. _I know already. And it doesn't make a difference at all._

Those feelings were for another time. They were lost and afraid and desperately aimless. But now, all she felt was betrayed.

Hermione got back to her feet and walked to the owlery to write a letter.

000000

When Harry asked her later if she was all right, she told him she had used Hedwig.

"Is that okay?" she asked serenely.

He was confused – but he nodded slowly. "Hermione," he said. "You don't seem all right, lately."

She sighed. "I'm not, really. But how all right am I supposed to be, with everything that's been happening?"

Harry seemed to take this into consideration as she sat down with him to study. For just a little while, she let herself believe that nothing was changing at all, and that she could do her schoolwork and go to bed like a normal, sane person.

Her dreams that night disagreed.

_He was watching the hat at the center of the room. She could tell he was nervous – his name was so close to the beginning, and his house was so predefined, he couldn't be anything but nervous. She felt the need to clamp a steadying hand on his shoulder before she remembered she couldn't._

_"Black, Sirius!"_

_He realized it was him only a moment too late – one of the people behind him pushed him forward. Pale blond hair… no, that was preposterous._

_He was seated on the stool, the hat slipped over his head- and suddenly, Hermione could hear the voice in his head, a little whisper in her own ear. It gave her shivers to remember how horribly frightened she'd been at her own Sorting._

_"Well, well…" the hat said. "You're a bit of a black sheep, aren't you?"_

_The boy frowned, even through his nervousness. "That's a really bad pun, you know," he said._

_The hat chuckled. "It's not the last time you'll hear it, either. Especially if you go where I want to place you."_

_She walked closer to him, knelt before the stool, amazed at how utterly small and insignificant this person before her seemed._

_"Where- where is that?" he whispered back._

_She had the distinct impression the hat was smiling. "Why Gryffindor, of course."_

_Sirius Black, at eleven years of age, stiffened on the stool. A young McGonagall, nearby, watched with a tapping foot and obvious frown. She thought she knew where he was going – where the rest of his family had gone and where he would end up too. Hermione wanted to tell her she was wrong, and at the same time felt the oddest urge to tell the hat to just put him there instead. But of course, it couldn't hear her._

_"You… you can't be serious," he managed._

_"I'm usually quite serious when it comes to Sorting," the hat said back. "You know, you've got quite a bit of potential for Gryffindor. Godric would have loved you. Brash, defiant, courageous. The prime example."_

_"But… my family…"_

_"It all depends, I suppose," the hat continued. "If you're brave enough to try, you're brave enough to be in it. Otherwise, we might still put you in Slytherin with the snakes."_

_The boy's mouth thinned to a line, and Hermione realized that she was watching a defining moment in his life._

_"I…"_

_"Yes?"_

_"I think I ought to go in Gryffindor. If that's all right."_

_"Quite right, my boy, quite right… well, in that case, it'll have to be-"_

**_GRYFFINDOR!_**

Hermione woke with an uneasy knot in her stomach. The day proceeded well, though, and the dream was forgotten in a flurry of other things. As the weeks passed, she found only one reason she might be feeling so edgy.

Hedwig had returned – but she was not carrying any letters.


	10. The Delegations

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

You've got questions, I've got… some answers. Some.

1) Why is he blond? Which _he_ are you talking about? I was making a little snide reference to a Malfoy-related person in the crowd. All those inbred pure-blood families – there had to be one. snicker

2) Hermione is pretty sure the Imperius memory is real. She remembers Sirius trying to alter it himself, as well as his shying around the subject. Which is why she wrote her letter, of course.

3) I've got three more sequels to iron out any subplots that don't finish in this one, lol. I'm in no hurry. (Actually, I've got them all planned out as to what goes where in what year, but SHH, I'm not supposed to tell you… er, right.)

4) Harry is a lot more unsettled – he doesn't know that Sirius isn't really after him, he doesn't have as many people to count on, and he had no one to talk to about his scar-dream at the beginning. He feels as though he has to work harder to stand on his own, which is why he's resisting harder.

5) Harry thinks there's something wrong with Hermione, but he's not sure what and she's already asked him politely to stay out of something once. And, being Hermione, she can always plead the 'insane by way of schoolwork' bit.

6) George. Ah. George. I keep saying that. Because he's plot-centric. And… yeah, important. So I can't ever say very much about him.

7) There's already a bit of a twist in the visions, but it's hard to catch. You'll hit yourself on the forehead later, if I do my job right.

8) And Hedwig was probably not intercepted. She wasn't sporting any injuries or being hissy.

**Chapter 9 – The Delegations**

"Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future, without fear."  
**-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**

Monday morning, there was a notice about the delegations from the other schools. It said they would arrive on Friday, cutting short her last period.

Hermione found she really couldn't care about the shortened class, all things considered. Not only was it insignificant in the long run, it was also _Potions._ Double, at that.

Ron echoed her sentiments almost immediately, and Harry gained a spring in his step as they walked to Herbology.

Directly after in Care of Magical Creatures, however, Hermione lost any euphoria the announcement might have given her.

Draco Malfoy was standing alone on the other side of the clearing, poking at a blast-ended skrewt with a stick.

"I'll be right back," she muttered tightly to Harry and Ron. They looked after her with alarmed expressions as she strode over to the pale-haired boy, anger in her steps.

"_You!_" she said, and though it wasn't loud, her target looked up at her with a smirk.

"Me," he agreed. "What is it now, buck-tooth?"

He had barely a moment to react before her wand was sticking into his stomach.

"You modified my memory," Hermione hissed.

The smug expression disappeared; his eyes widened. And for once in his life, Draco Malfoy seemed speechless.

"You could be expelled," she said quietly, eyes flashing furiously. "The only reason I haven't said anything – to _anyone_, mind you – is that you helped me once."

Malfoy seemed to regain his composure slightly then, and he stood straighter. "I saved your wretched little hide, you ungrateful mudblood," he told her with a sneer. "I suppose you remember what other wonderful ideas my father was having at the time?"

She flushed at the memory, still hazy, of being commanded to shine Lucius Malfoy's shoes.

"You didn't exactly stop him, did you?" she gritted out. "I don't suppose _you've_ ever been under the influence of an Unforgivable-"

Malfoy stepped back abruptly and grabbed her wrist tightly – the tips of his fingers dug through the cloth to pinch her skin.

"Don't presume _anything_ about me, mudblood," he bit out slowly. "I came back and _looked_ for you, which is more than anyone else in my position would have done. Now put away your little wand and go back to class. And if you _ever-"_ his eyes flashed, "-tell _anyone_ about that particular event-"

"Is he bothering you, Hermione?" came a cool, welcome voice from behind them.

She turned her head to see Harry and Ron standing very close behind her. Harry, who had spoken, had his wand out and very clearly pointed in Malfoy's direction.

Malfoy let her go with a hateful glare. "Quite the opposite, Potter. Now if you'll excuse me- class is starting."

Hermione found herself in an awkward position as he brushed past her angrily.

"What the bloody hell was _that_ all about?" Ron demanded.

Hermione rubbed at her arm, looking at the ground. He had looked for her?

Why should she believe him? He was probably just trying to keep her from telling anyone.

"Nothing," she said finally, hating herself for it. "I thought I heard him say something."

And after that, she refused to talk about it.

000000

Friday's Potions class, while shorter than a double block, seemed even longer than usual.

Snape kept hovering about their cauldrons, sneering at their work, and making discouraging noises that sounded potentially fatal. Hermione found, to her chagrin, that she'd been so busy trying to ignore Malfoy that she'd added a pinch more sulfur than she'd needed to. Snape gloried in pointing it out, and docked her points for it as she quickly balanced the mixture.

By the time the hour finally came for them to walk out to meet the delegations, students were fidgeting restlessly in their seats, and at least four of them had gotten detentions for horrible defects in their work. Neville, of course, was an old standby – his cauldron melted into a little puddle at his feet and had to be roped off to later be cleaned up specially.

Snape's overly hooked nose was twitching irritatedly as he snapped for them to leave.

It was obvious he was unhappy about the disruption of the arriving delegations – but Hermione had the strangest feeling that it was something more. And that she really ought to know what it was.

She shoved the thought away as they rushed out to the front of the school to watch the foreign students arrive.

It turned out to be a bit of a wait, actually. At five minutes, Seamus (next to them) began to fiddle with his cloak pin. Parvati sulked at Professor McGonagall's back, while fingering the butterfly clip she'd been ordered to remove from her hair. Soon, Hermione herself was staring boredly at the back of a sixth year Hufflepuff's head.

She almost missed the call one of the boys made, spotting the speck in the distance.

"_Hermione_," Ron hissed, poking her in the side with his elbow. "Look!"

Her eyes followed the line of his pointing finger – she squinted as she strained to see what he was talking about. Then she looked a bit to the right and saw it.

It?

Well, whatever it was, it was coming closer by the second.

Hagrid, who had at the last minute decided to come down to watch, let out a sigh like a bellows the moment the giant blue horses came into view.

"Arn' they beau'iful?"

Hermione, however, found she was much more interested in the giant carriage they were pulling. It landed lightly in front of the school, but came to a slightly shuddering stop afterward.

One door opened, followed by a student that pulled down some very gaudy golden steps. Hermione wrinkled her nose; she'd always despised public displays of grandeur, no matter how necessary they might be sometimes.

Ron let out a low whistle as the first, large foot appeared.

Hermione decided, during the proceeding events, that she didn't very much like either Beauxbatons _or_ Durmstrang's headmasters. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, precisely – probably two little carbon copies of Dumbledore, with twinkling eyes and mysterious manners.

It was interesting (though not as interesting as Ron seemed to think) that Viktor Krum was still a student. When she'd seen him at the World Cup, he'd seemed much older… perhaps because he had been wearing an international Quidditch uniform instead of a school one. At first, she found herself soured on him because of his star treatment – but that was soon replaced by a strange kind of vindication as she saw him subtly push away his headmaster with his trademark scowl. Hermione decided vaguely that he might be a likeable person after all – not that it much mattered, as she probably wasn't going to even talk to him.

"Oh, please shut your mouth, Ron," she said peevishly as his jaw dropped open. Harry grinned at her from his other side as they began to file back into the Great Hall for the welcoming feast.

Just as Hermione was about to follow the crowd, however, her eye caught on a tiny speck of brown, rocketing over the crowd toward her.

_What?_

The very familiar, feathered little ping pong ball hit her directly in the chest.

She gasped in surprise and risked a quick glance at Harry and Ron – they were walking away from her, oblivious.

Hermione closed her robes over the excitedly chirping owl as they walked inside. Then, she snuck away to a bathroom on the right side.

Hurrying herself into a stall and carefully allowing the owl into her cupped hands, she tried to pull a rolled up parchment from its leg. Geronimo hopped about with alarming regularity, however, and it took her a while to finally calm the thing down long enough to snatch the letter from it.

With trembling fingers, she unrolled her reply.

It was disappointingly short. And incredibly infuriating.

_You're keeping dangerous secrets as well, I should point out. I kept a disturbing incident from you that wouldn't have helped much – I'd say we're more than even._

_I'm afraid I can't write much at the moment – I'm slightly busy. I hope you're well._

And that was that.

Hermione crumpled up the parchment angrily – then took out her wand and incinerated it for good measure.

How _dare_ he?

"It's _my_ memory!" she hissed. "He has _no_ right-"

Geronimo hooted sadly at her, looking at the ashes on the floor. He was probably disappointed he wouldn't have anything to take back.

Hermione felt a tension headache beginning at her temples, and she massaged at them with clenched teeth. She gave the owl a scathing look. "He doesn't get a reply," she told it. "Go on back. If you could talk, I'd ask you to tell him from me that he's a bloody git."

Geronimo blinked without comprehending and she let her head fall against the stall door with a groan.

"Just go," she told it with a wave of her hand.

The owl chirped and nudged at her hand.

Reluctantly, she stroked it along its head. It cooed happily, and she found herself calming down slightly as it nuzzled into her touch.

"Fine," she muttered, feeling a little better. "Come on and I'll get you something to snack on."

She hid the owl inside her robes again, continuing to stroke it to keep it calm, and left the bathroom to head for dinner.

It wasn't as bad as she'd thought it would be, slipping in during dinner – everyone was much too preoccupied with everything else going on, and she decided that her excuse would be that she'd slipped back to the commonroom, thinking she'd forgotten something…

But, as it turned out, Harry and Ron hadn't even noticed her absence.

_Viktor Krum_ was sitting next to Harry and Ron, along with the rest of his school's delegation.

Trying not to feel incredibly furious (hard, as she was already halfway there), Hermione stalked over to her usual spot and threw a glare their way. Harry, at least, had the decency to look slightly guilty as she picked up a piece of buttered bread.

Krum looked up, surprised, as she reached over his shoulder. His brows knit together.

"I haff not taken _your_ seat, I hope?" he asked in a heavily accented voice, sounding genuinely concerned.

Hermione tried very hard not to snap at him. "Don't worry about it," she said in what she hoped was a relatively even voice. "I'll find _another_," she added, with a scathing look Ron's way.

His face was rapt with admiration – he didn't hear her.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," she muttered, looking about the table for a free seat.

Geronimo, inside her robes, began to hoot unhappily.

Luckily, no one seemed to notice in the din of the Hall.

Seeing no free seats, she expelled her breath sharply. "I'll just eat in the commonroom then, shall I?"

Krum made as though to get up, but at that moment, someone called her name.

"We'll make some space, don't worry!" Fred said from across the table. She tried not to seem too relieved as she pulled herself over to him, even as she became unnerved at the slightly older crowd about.

She realized too late that she was now sitting between the twins.

George, on her other side, turned around suddenly to talk with Lee Jordan.

"Fine, then," she muttered tartly beneath her breath.

She slipped a bit of bread to Geronimo as she turned her attention to Fred. "Thank you," she said. "I didn't really think it wise to budge up Ron's big idol."

Fred was grinning insanely at her. "Probably not. He'd sulk for days." Then, inexplicably, he shoved something into her hand. Many somethings. They were round, metal, and _gold_, now that she opened her hand.

"You," he said blissfully, "are a _genius_."

Hermione blinked.

"You… don't tell me you've…"

"Sold it," he said happily. "Lots of it."

Hermione put her head in her hands.

"How many and to whom?" she asked miserably.

Fred shrugged. "Can't tell you that – but I'm thinking Professor Snape's going to have a very bad week…"

"And Gryffindor's no doubt going to lose a lot of points," she muttered back.

Her stomach grumbled at that point, and she decided to push it out of her mind. She would deal with it once it happened.

Just as she was reaching for a bit of casserole, however, the food disappeared.

Hermione cursed in a very un-Hermione-like way. Thankfully, no one seemed to hear.

Geronimo let out a miserable noise, and she let her breath out through her teeth. "Be right back," she said to Fred, getting quickly to her feet as Dumbledore began to walk toward the front. Before he could ask why, she was out the door again.

Hermione nibbled on her bread irritatedly as she let the poor bird free. It flew out a window into the cool night air, and she resented it suddenly for not having any worries other than 'feed me' and 'love me'.

Her list of people to hit over the head was growing by the minute. Some of them hadn't even offended her yet.

As she looked inside and saw that Dumbledore was speaking, she decided that she was tired enough that it didn't matter. Blast the rules and all, but she was going back up to her dormitory and going to bed.

Yes. That sounded good.


	11. The Four Champions

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

Oh crudmuffins. Answering time.

**Donahermurphy** (aka she-who-asks-the-unanswerable-questions): the locket is a locket. With pretty music. Ye-es. And Krum… is also Krum. George gets shown again here.

And Sirius really strikes me as that kind of person. "I'm right, you're wrong, go back to your daily life and stay out of mine" – even to people he actually likes.

All your other questions are _so_ unanswerable. You're incorrigible.

**Kou Shun'u**: There was a line that gave me inspiration for the table-switching thing. It went something like this: "Psst! Budge up Hermione, hurry – oh, it's too late, they've gone over to the Slytherin table." Not verbatim, but it made me wonder a little, especially if Krum caught sight of Harry's scar without Hermione blocking it.

**Miranda**: Your name is the same as my best friend's, coincidentally. So, just because of that, I'll answer all your questions fully. Sirius is talking about a couple of secrets she's kept from him – among them, the fact that the boggart turned into him, that she's seeing future things, etc. He obviously doesn't know what these are, but he's rather quick on the uptake so he knows they're _there._

Snape's bad mood is Snape not getting the job again and also having to see Karkaroff again – as it was in the actual book. Krum and Hermione will _not_ get permanently together, and neither will Ron/Hermione because I personally dislike those ships too. Krum and Hermione may end up going to the ball together, but that's just a fun Sirius/Hermione jealousy opportunity. Rita may or may not end up in a jar, depending how it gets written. I honestly don't know yet.

**Athenethegrey**: Ooh, but you _did_ mention the f-word! Horrible!

Well, Fleur does exist – she's just not as noticeable yet. I don't know whether she'll end up playing a big part or not, but she's there. And _yes!_ Hermione is awesome at that by now. Mostly because I hate typing out things that have already happened.

So everyone, enjoy the chapter, and know that you will get little of import out of me. These things happen in their due time, after all (er, in _some_ time, anyway).

**Chapter 10 – The Four Champions **

"A thing worth having is a thing worth cheating for."  
**-W. C. Fields**

As it turned out, she had a bit too much homework to go straight to bed. _Quite _a bit.

Hermione cursed her timeturner, her situation, and even her father, for giving her his type A genes.

Crookshanks, sitting by the fire, stretched lazily and gave her what had to be the cat's equivalent of a smug look.

"Ooh," she told him. "I have to find something for _you_ to do all day."

He, being a cat, did not respond.

A few minutes later, the rest of Gryffindor piled through the door, causing her already magnificent headache to intensify. Harry in particular stopped to sit next to her silently, while Ron drifted up the stairs like a lovesick little girl (though she might, _might_ have been a little overly critical).

He cleared his throat uneasily after the rest had disappeared.

"Er."

Hermione didn't look up from her Arithmancy book. Harry sighed.

"He was talking about the _Wronski__ Feint,_" he pleaded in a pained voice.

Hermione turned her page, though she hadn't read all of the last.

"He said he would _teach_ it to me sometime!"

Her teeth clenched, and she closed her book (a bit more sharply than she might should have).

"_Please_ go upstairs before I say something I shouldn't," she told him.

Harry let out something that sounded like an 'erp!' and complied.

Hermione was left alone with her books and her cat and her stupid timeturner. Her stomach gurgled again.

She sighed and decided that her homework might _possibly_ be able to wait until the next morning.

"You seem a bit hungry," a familiar voice observed dryly.

Hermione jumped, her book tumbling from her lap – she looked up to see George Weasley, regarding her with a more serious expression than she might have expected. And was that-

"Food?" she breathed, forgetting for the moment that she was extremely unhappy with him.

He shrugged and passed her the small, covered basket in his right hand. Hermione pulled the still deliciously warm meal from it and took a large bite of chicken.

George eyed her with a frown.

"You're insane, I think," he said after she finished the quick meal.

She glanced up at him questioningly – he gestured at the edge of his mouth and she wiped a bit of gravy away from it.

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

George sat down in a nearby chair. "You skipped a speech by _Dumbledore._ And dinner, but still."

Hermione leaned back, feeling a bit better about her horrible evening. "It's been a long day," she said. Then, as though realizing who she was talking to for the first time- "Why are you even talking to me? I thought you were ignoring me."

George blinked, surprised. "Really? I thought you were ignoring _me."_

It took Hermione a second to work this out, but she came to the conclusion that it didn't much matter who was ignoring who – she was still quite unhappy with him. Or, well, should have been.

Before she could open her mouth, however, he spoke.

"I think I understand what you meant, though."

Her mouth closed. Her brow knit in confusion.

George turned to look at her peculiarly. "What did he ask you to do?" he asked her.

It hit her a moment later what he was talking about. _Lupin._

"He asked _me_ to take out my wand," George continued quietly. "And then he asked me to point it at the little golden scales on his desk. And I did."

A strange lump appeared in her stomach. Hermione swallowed.

"It hit me," he said then, in a slightly trembling voice, "that Fred was right behind me. He could have asked me to point it at _him_… and I… I would've done it, too."

Hermione closed her eyes and let her breath out slowly.

"You... might be surprised," she told him. "I don't think you would have."

George was silent for a moment. "I guess I'm sorry," he said finally.

He got up, then, and she heard his steps up the stairwell.

Hermione pulled her feet up to her chest and leaned her head against the chair, contemplating.

000000

When Hermione woke up the next morning, she realized she was still in the commonroom chair. Her back immediately twinged as she sat up, alerting her to the fact that she was probably going to be sore for the rest of the morning.

Sighing, she collected her things and slipped out the portrait, noticing as she did that it was rather early in the morning (drat her internal clock). She decided that she might as well get her homework done, and perhaps come back later for a quick nap.

The library, of course, was empty. Of _course._

Madam Pince gave her a warm look as she walked to one of the tables, setting her things down. Clearly, she thought all students should have been doing what she was doing. But then, Hermione thought moodily, all students didn't have ten classes of homework to do.

The timeturner had been wearing on her slightly, it was true. The added work was fairly bad, though the problems with the visions (which may or may not have been linked to the timeturner) were incredibly mild this year. She didn't know whether to be thankful or not.

It was while she was looking through _Hogwarts: A History_ for some History of Magic material that she came upon a very disturbing passage.

_"…death toll of only one of the three contestants, to an extra potent, misfired stunning hex. The other contestant, from Durmstrang, claimed accidental firing, but when the matter was further looked into, the Hogwarts contestant gave Pensival evidence to the contrary…"_

Hermione swallowed, flipping back to the index and then to the next incident of the Triwizard Tournament. She scanned the page with mounting foreboding.

_"Death, because of a failed fire-protection charm – most likely due to a panic attack.__ Official cause of death was written as third-degree burns on the face and extremities…"_

"Oi, Hermione!"

She gasped and choked back a startled shriek, jumping up and banging her shin against the study desk she'd been sitting at. A sharp pain on her thumb alerted her to the fact that she'd managed to get herself a paper cut.

"Er… sorry about that," Fred said sheepishly. "But good thing you're here! Wanted to talk to you about something-"

George was standing behind him, looking fairly uneasy. Hermione became wary.

"What is it now?" she asked. "You know I never agreed to helping you more than that once-"

Strangely, this didn't dampen his spirit in the least. "Yes, well – I was actually wondering about something else. You might, ah, just help me a tiny bit with some… research…"

She gave him a stony look, waiting for his purpose to become clear.

"…perhaps you might know where I'd figure out how to get over an Age Line?" he finished, looking _decidedly_ shifty.

Hermione frowned.

"Why on earth would you need to know how to get over an age line?" she asked.

Fred smiled innocently. "…research?" he repeated.

His twin, behind him, smacked his forehead with his hand.

"There's an age restriction on the Tournament entries," George said. "Seventeen. You missed it, but you enter by putting your name in the Goblet-"

Fred looked scandalized by his brother's blatant disregard for his lying.

_"George!"_ he said, sounding betrayed.

Hermione's lips thinned. "I think it was a very good idea, on Dumbledore's part, to put the Age Line there," she said. "I'm assuming it was him?"

George nodded, looking fairly unconcerned by his twin's unhappiness with him. "I told you she wouldn't do it," he informed Fred. "Why don't you just do the research yourself-"

"I don't think you should enter," Hermione interrupted, feeling slightly queasy. "Either of you. Or- or anyone, for that matter."

They both looked at her as though she'd gone crazy.

"People have _died_ before," she said in a small voice.

Fred rolled his eyes. "Oh come _on_," he said. "That was ages ago! Besides, you don't think they'd actually set us things that would kill us-"

"They _have_, before," she said. "And it wasn't always the challenges… sometimes, it was the other students…"

Fred was taking this much too lightly for her sanity. And George – lord, George was looking just as enthusiastic, which _really_ frightened her.

"Don't you _dare_," she said. "I'll – I'll tell McGonagall who really set that dung bomb – I'll tell Snape about the-"

Fred's hand slapped over her mouth quickly. "Shush!" he said in a panicked voice. "Madam Pince isn't _that_ far off."

She pulled away. "I _will_," she said fiercely. "I haven't ever threatened you two with anything you've said to me before, but so help me, I _will!"_

Fred crossed his arms. "You wouldn't dare," he said. "We've got just as much on you-"

George raised his hands. "Leave me out of that one," he said quickly. Hermione had the impression that he wasn't keen on incurring her wrath again quite so soon.

Fred sighed frustratedly. "Well _I've_ got just as much!"

Hermione felt her nails dig into the desk's edge. "Well, there's something you ought to know," she snapped. "_I_ really don't care what you say about me. Because _I_ care more about someone's life than a stupid detention!"

"Fine then!" Fred said.

"Fine!" she retorted.

"And… fine!" he finished, grasping for words. He spun on his heel with a red face, stalking away.

George… stayed to contemplate her with a strange face.

"Yes, well," he said. "Erm…"

Hurriedly, he pulled his wand and grabbed her wrist, muttering something. He grinned at her quickly – then stalked off in imitation of his brother.

Hermione blinked and looked down at her unblemished thumb.

"Well… well _I_ could've done that," she said to herself, trying to find her anger. Unfortunately, all she managed to come up with was confusion.

She didn't notice that she'd gained a curious, dark-haired spectator from the other end of the library.

And even after she left, she truly believed she'd been the only one there.

000000

When breakfast time arrived, she hurried down to pick it up, not wanting to miss another meal. She remembered belatedly that she technically had no seat (and that her safety and identity as a human being with four separate limbs might be in jeopardy, should she risk sitting next to Fred again).

She ended up standing at the end of the table, nibbling on her lip nervously.

Oddly, Viktor Krum caught sight of her and waved her over.

"Ve are missing someone today," he offered. "Though it really is no trouble… ve could sit vith the Slytherins…"

Hermione made a face and sat down in the offered seat, feeling much more generous toward him than before. "_I_ wouldn't want to," she said darkly. "I won't condemn _you_ to it."

He laughed at this, and she decided that, after all, Viktor Krum _was_ a decent sort of person.

Just as she was moving to take her breakfast, however, her good mood disappeared.

Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were all walking confidently toward the Goblet in the middle of the hall.

Krum watched them intently – probably weighing possible competition, now that she thought about it. He'd probably already put his name in. Hermione clenched her hands as she prayed mentally.

They stopped just short of the gold line on the floor. Students had stopped to watch with bated breath.

"Well…" Fred muttered. "No time like the present."

And he stepped forward… over the line.

Hermione's shoulders slumped slightly.

BANG.

Fred flew backward into Lee, blinking. George's face turned comical as he edged backward from the line. A pop! sounded throughout the hall next, and Fred was suddenly looking down at a long white beard.

Silence.

And then… Fred began to laugh.

"I might have warned you, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, stepping toward the staff table with twinkling eyes. "Though you might consider keeping the beard. It _is_ very nice."

George helped his brother up with one last longing look at the Goblet before they left for the infirmary.

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"It makes me vonder what those two vould use a thousand Galleons on," Krum observed.

Hermione blinked as she realized that he had just hit on the exact reason they'd wanted to enter in the first place. Of course Fred and George had wanted to enter. Their _business._

She felt slightly guilty at the sudden thought, but decided she stood by her earlier decision.

Wordlessly, she began to eat her breakfast.

She did indeed end up taking her short nap – though it wasn't quite as short or as peaceful as she might have wanted it.

_If her soul existed, it surely had to be a tattered thing by now._

_"I'm so sorry, George."_

_How did that make it any better?_

_He tested her grip on his hand, and found it tight. He looked at her with a slightly curious expression._

_"I think I'm going to follow him."_

_Her breath caught. "You-"_

_"But it'll be with a bang," he told her._

_He rose easily then, smiled at her, and ruffled her hair like he used to. George gave her a wink on his way out the door, but all it did was make her want to cry._

When she woke up, Hermione felt, if anything, more tired than when she'd gone to sleep – a strange dream was receding into the depths of her mind, and even as she tried to understand it, it disappeared completely.

Frowning, turning to look at the time, she gasped.

She'd missed dinner.

She'd missed _the Goblet._

Hermione stumbled from her bed toward the door, hoping Ron or Harry would be able to tell her who they were-

She noticed even before she got downstairs that there were many more people in the commonroom than normal. Cheers and laughter were erupting from below. Hermione smiled to herself – there was a Gryffindor champion then! What a turn of luck.

As she exited the stairs, though, she caught sight of Fred Weasley, and her smile disappeared instantly.

Fred's face was clouded – he was looking at her with a mix of anger and hurt. She blinked and backed into another student, wondering if he was still angry about her reticence in helping him with the Age Line.

"So," he said loudly, "come down to celebrate?"

Hermione rubbed at her arms. "Celebrate what?" she asked, feeling uneasy. "Did Angelina make it?"

Fred glared at her, and she felt her brows knit in confusion.

He turned away, however, and Hermione found herself left in the dark.

"So how'd you do it?" asked someone from behind her. She whirled about to see George leaning against the wall, looking as though he'd been brooding for a while.

"Do _what?"_ she asked. "I really don't know what you're talking about, I just woke up-"

"Get his name in the Goblet, that's what," George insisted with a faintly annoyed expression. "Look, you don't have to hide it from me, we both know you're the brains behind everything Harry does-"

"_Harry?_" Hermione said. "What does this have to do with Harry?" She blinked, then looked around. "Speaking of which, where _is_ Harry, I'd have thought he'd be celebrating too."

"You'd think so," George agreed mildly. "Seeing as he's one of the Champions."

Hermione stared at him for a moment – then broke out laughing.

George's face turned surprised, even as she began to talk. "You're having me on!" she said. "Fred's idea, I take it, to get me back for not helping him…" When his expression didn't change, she blinked. "Oh, you didn't seriously expect me to believe Harry somehow got himself across the Age Line and beat out all those older students – besides which, he would _tell_ me."

At George's now-troubled face, she began to doubt.

"You… _are_ joking?" Hermione said uncertainly.

George slowly let out his breath. "You didn't help him?"

Hermione thought to say something to this, but found her voice was no longer working.

When it finally _did_ work, she said, "I- I think I need to sit down."

George blinked as she began to slide down the wall – he moved forward to steady her, but got there only a moment too late. Hermione put a hand to her head, feeling, if possible, even worse than before.

Awkwardly, George sat down next to her.

"Er- Fred thought you'd done it," he offered. "Said all of that stuff about it being too dangerous, threatened him and all, then helped Harry in."

Hermione turned her head to glare at him. "Of course I wouldn't help Harry in!" she hissed. "It's the last thing I'd want to do, he's too _young_, we haven't even covered half the spells the champions needed to survive in the last competitions-"

George cleared his throat uncertainly. "Then, ah- d'you think Harry might've done it himself?"

Before, Hermione would have given him a direct answer to the negative – of _course_ Harry hadn't put himself in, did he think he was _stupid?_ But, of course, he had been stupid before.

"I'll… get back to you on that," Hermione said.

She rose unsteadily to her feet, then grabbed the rail and hurried up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.

"Harry!" she yelled, knocking heavily on the door. "Harry, open up that door this _instant!"_

Hermione heard a murmuring voice inside, very quiet – she lifted her fist to knock again, but the door lifted away before she could bring it to bear.

With one look at the boy that had answered the door, Hermione knew he hadn't even contemplated the idea of entering himself.

"Harry," she said breathlessly. "What's all this _about_, I've just woken up, and George says you're one of the Champions-"

Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her. As he did so, Hermione realized something.

"Where… where's Ron?" she asked. "God forbid, he didn't get himself chosen _too-_"

Harry jerked his head toward a bed, its hangings tightly shut, and Hermione walked over to it quickly.

"Ron!" she said. "Are you getting dressed or something?"

No response.

"Oh for-" She pulled aside the bed hangings to see a fully dressed Ron Weasley, staring resentfully at the ceiling.

"Would you stop that?" Hermione asked him impatiently. "We have to talk about this!"

Ron looked over at her. "What've we got to talk about?" he asked. "Harry's the fourth Champion, congrats and all. Can I go to bed now?"

"You're a great help," Hermione snarled at him. "You've got no idea what this means, have you?"

Harry had sit down on his bed now, looking shell-shocked.

Ron was ignoring her again.

"Half the champions in the last Triwizard Tournaments have _died_, Ron," she said. "I don't care what safety precautions they say they're taking, Harry's much too young to be competing!"

"So ask him why he put his name in then!" Ron told her hotly, grabbing the bed hangings and pulling them shut again with a 'snap!'.

Hermione clenched her fists. Then, quite deliberately, she pulled her wand and swished it through the hangings. They disappeared with a pop.

"_You_," she said. "Are going to listen to me. I know this seems like another thing happening to Harry, but for God's sake, Ron, try and remember what _kinds_ of things happen to Harry!"

"Quidditch Seeker!" Ron fired off, sitting up suddenly. "Youngest one in a century, Hermione-"

"A Basilisk, a turban-wearing freak, dementors, and a mass-murderer!" she interrupted him fiercely. "And _Lord Voldemort_, if you've forgotten!"

Ron stared at her.

Hermione flushed suddenly, and put a trembling hand to her mouth. Since when had she been able to say his full name?

"You've really changed, Hermione, you know that?" Ron said hoarsely.

There was silence for a very long while. Finally, though, Ron deflated.

"Fine," he said. "I don't think Harry put his name in the stupid Goblet," he said. Then, looking over at the so-named, he scowled and drew a hand through his hair. "Hear that, Harry?"

Hermione sighed in relief. "Then we just need to figure out _who_ did it, and why."

"Could've been Fred and George," Ron muttered resentfully. "Bet they'd love doing something like that to me-"

"_Believe_ me," Hermione said quickly. "It wasn't Fred and George."

Ron shrugged. "I've really got no clue. It could've been any number of people."

Harry sighed. "I'm not really sure I want to know."

Hermione froze, suddenly understanding something Ron had said before. "Wait," she said. "The _fourth_ Champion? Aren't there _three_?"

Ron, still looking annoyed, began to explain.


	12. Preparations

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

First: mandatory HBP, non-specific jabber.

I finished mine in 5 hours. Which is not as good as one of my friends, who did a 2.5 hour run. All in all – great book. But lots and lots of bombshells. I was gaping by the end.

(And I so hated Hermione's characterization in there, WHYWHATHAPPENEDTOYOURSENSIBILITIESHERMIONE!)

Nothing else to be said. Er, yes.

Second, question-answers:

1) I wouldn't dream of putting Hermione in the tournament. Harry is the one with the blood and all, so it seems stupid to put her in there instead of him. Despite the fact that this is a Hermione-centric series, Harry is still the one fighting Voldemort.

2) I may be making Hermione a little _too_ capable, but I can't stand writing sappy, stupid teens. I happen to be one myself, and while a good deal of us seem to act that way according to the majority of HP fanfiction, _I _certainly don't. So, yes. Hermione is a little more capable. And in the name of canon, I claim butterfly effect. P

3) The fight is somewhat prevented. Ron may sulk a bit, but I can't write him well _because_ of his irrationality. The real reason the fight didn't happen? I can't get into the head of someone acting so stupid. /Ron bashing Sorry.

4) Donahermurphy: Thank you for the flattery. It'll so get you everywhere. P

5) I see magical power as a matter of part practice, part understanding. Hermione has a natural knack for understanding complicated concepts (the second) and is good at retaining knowledge. She may learn a few spells early, but it's about the same as looking in a book. If she picks them up, it's only because she already has the ability to do so.

**Chapter 11 – Preparations**

"Worry is a misuse of imagination."  
**-Dan Zadra**

At breakfast on Sunday, the first thing Hermione noticed was that the Durmstrang students had moved from the Gryffindor table, to sit with the Slytherins.

Secondly, she noticed that there was an empty seat, directly between Harry and Ron.

Feeling a little warmth in her heart, she sat down into her niche, and immediately felt better despite it all.

Ron, who seemed to have regained his indignation on Harry's behalf, was scowling at the Durmstrang students.

"They only came over in the first place because Krum saw Harry's scar," he muttered, handing her a slice of buttered toast.

Hermione hadn't known this, but decided it didn't really matter all that much. The short of it seemed to be that she'd misjudged Viktor Krum.

There were more important things, in the long run. For instance-

"I'll be right back," she told Ron. "And don't eat my toast."

Professor Lupin was just coming in the door, looking slightly haggard. The full moon had been only two days prior.

"Hermione," he acknowledged. "What can I do for you?"

She scowled, but not at him. "I was wondering whether you'd sent the news off to your friend yet," she said, intentionally vague.

Lupin frowned. "He hasn't sent me an owl in months," he said. "Once he got it into his head to chase down Peter-"

"Wait, he's _what?_" said Hermione, surprised.

Lupin sighed. "I'll talk to you after breakfast, in my office," he said.

As Hermione sat back down in her seat, frowning, she noticed her toast was gone.

Ron whistled innocently.

000000

At first, she didn't see him, despite the fact that he was sitting at his desk. Perhaps it was because he was once again so tired he could barely sit up straight.

Two days after the full moon indeed.

"Sit down," Lupin said. "Have a cup of tea."

Hermione, despite the fact that she'd just had breakfast, did just that.

"Sirius was supposed to come back to stay in London during the school year," Lupin said suddenly. Hermione coughed on her tea, caught slightly off guard. She'd expected him to make a bit of small talk before launching into more serious matters. Perhaps he was simply tired.

"So… he didn't?" she asked cautiously, setting the teacup down.

Lupin sighed. "No, of course not. Think who we're talking about here."

Hermione snorted. "Point taken."

"He was spotted in Albania," her professor continued. "Which, when coupled with what we've learned from Harry, makes me believe he must be trailing Peter, as I mentioned before."

Hermione tried, and failed, to hide her apprehension. "But you don't think he'd really – I mean, he's a hunted wizard, and going after Peter would just put him in _more_ danger – he couldn't exactly go to the local Ministry if something happened-"

"Which means absolutely nothing to him," Lupin finished quietly. He stared down at his own untouched tea pensively.

Hermione let her breath out in a huff. "Well, as soon as you owl him about the Tournament, he'll rather _have_ come back, won't he?" she said peevishly. "If he cares all that much about Harry."

Lupin raised his eyebrows at her. "If you think you can get through to him, then by all means, try. He's been sending back my letters unopened thus far."

Hermione felt her face turn cloudy – a knot had grown in her stomach as Lupin talked.

She'd just sent back her only real link to Sirius. What if he wouldn't accept a different owl?

Worse, what if he did something reckless, as Lupin was obviously fearing?

"I'm going to the owlery," she said. "Someone's got to make him see some reason."

"Don't worry too much," Lupin said tiredly. "He's a grown man. He can take care of himself."

At her raised eyebrow, he cracked a smile. "And also, Harry will be in the news at some point."

_That_ reassured her more.

But she still wrote him a letter, as politely as she could manage while still being furious with him.

000000

The following week was possibly one of the worst in the history of Hermione's attendance at Hogwarts – right up there with being petrified by a giant snake and tortured by the Cruciatus.

Later, she would reflect that Harry had probably had an even _worse_ week, but she wasn't feeling particularly generous at the time.

The incident in question happened to be in Double Potions, on Friday – this one _not_ cut short at all, as there were no handy delegations to greet. It all started with the Slytherins – like most things did. They'd apparently found someone in their house with the required brains to enchant glowing badges, all with the intent to humiliate Harry. From his expression, she assumed it was working.

With one scathing look at Malfoy, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and attempted to pull him to his seat.

"Ignore him," she whispered. "He's not worth it."

Malfoy said something she couldn't quite hear, though, and suddenly, Ron was standing up with a snarl and Harry was turning around more quickly than she could stop him.

They were facing him with drawn wands, and Hermione looked once to the ceiling pleadingly before moving to stop them.

Ron shrugged off her hand as she tried to urge him back, and Harry quite blatantly ignored her.

"Go on then, Potter," Malfoy whispered, eyes glinting malevolently. "You may as well get one good hit in before you croak. Survival rate's not that high in the Tournament-"

Hermione straightened, and resisted the urge to pull her _own_ wand. "I imagine you'd be too frightened to enter, even if you _were_ of age," she told him.

Malfoy's eyes flicked to her, and he raised an eyebrow. "_I_ imagine you should stay out of matters you don't understand, Mudblood."

The insult had really lost all meaning to her, so it was quite easy to shrug off – but, as always, Harry and Ron reacted badly, raising their wands-

There was a flash of light – something hissed through the air, slamming her in the jaw before she could shield herself – and a pain began to grow in her mouth.

By the time it all cleared, Malfoy and Harry were standing perfectly unharmed across from each other – but Crabbe and Goyle each sported some very nasty, open boils on their faces, and Hermione…

Hermione could feel her teeth _growing._

She let out a gasp, but her upper teeth bit into her bottom lip painfully and she cut it off abruptly. Ron seemed to be the only one to notice – his fists clenched, and he looked between Malfoy and her, as though unwilling to leave Harry alone in his company. The classroom wasn't looking like a very safe place to be, either, as it had now divided into Gryffindors and Slytherins, all twitching as though they were dying to go for their wands.

Thankfully, Parvati moved to take her arm and steer her out the door. Hermione might normally have worried about leaving such a tense atmosphere behind, but she was currently busy being utterly humiliated.

"Why are you outside of class?" snapped a horribly familiar voice, as they rounded the corner.

Hermione looked up to see Snape towering over them menacingly, just coming from some unspecified meeting to start class. She tried, very hard, not to whimper.

"Hermione's got to go to the hospital wing," Parvati said. "She got hit by something Malfoy threw."

Snape looked about to stop them, so Parvati added, "He and Harry got into a duel."

This shut the teacher's mouth, and Hermione, even through her embarrassment, felt like stomping on Parvati's foot. Snape now looked as though Christmas had come early.

"Get out of my sight," he growled quickly – then hurried off toward the door as Parvati began to pull her along again.

"He's awfully predictable," the other girl said pleasantly. "Don't worry, he would've found out anyhow – there's the small matter of Crabbe and Goyle having giant boils on their faces."

Hermione groaned, but it came out as more of a muffled 'mmph'.

000000

When Hermione got back to the dormitory, she had utterly perfect teeth.

She nearly burst with the need to find Harry and Ron and see if they would notice. But, peculiarly, neither was in the commonroom.

Remembering suddenly that Harry had probably gotten into quite a lot of trouble on her part, Hermione sat down heavily in an overstuffed chair and closed her eyes.

_Between him being in the Tournament and trying to defend me and Sirius going after Peter like mad-_

The tell-tale throbbing of another tension headache began to surface as she remembered all the reasons she really wasn't supposed to be this happy at the moment.

Well. Not that she was very happy _now._

"So?"

Her eyes flew open, and she stumbled out of her seat. George Weasley was walking through the door, looking at her interestedly. It occurred to her that she hadn't had the time to talk to him seriously for a good long while.

Hermione sighed miserably and rubbed at her temples, fully aware that it wasn't going to help her in the slightest. "Harry didn't enter himself," she said. "We really don't know _who_ entered him, for that matter."

George frowned, as though weighing the truthfulness of her statement.

Hermione felt a horrible wrench in her chest, and she found herself holding in tears of frustration. "Since when did I ever lie about anything so important?" she asked him – but it sounded more as though she were begging him at this point. "You know I'm not that petty, George."

He looked over at her, surprised, and she thought that perhaps he looked a little ashamed at himself now.

"Aw, come on," he said, looking a little panicked. "Don't cry, I didn't-"

Hermione felt her features tighten as she stopped herself. "I wasn't going to," she gritted out.

At his overly relieved expression, she wiped a hand down her face. "You're an idiot," she told him. "I'm leaving."

She was already through the door when she heard him say, surprised – "When did you get your teeth fixed, Hermione?"

Strangely, her headache disappeared.

By the time she reached the library, she was smiling very slightly.

000000

Hermione's worrying didn't exactly decrease over the next few weeks, but the rush of homework, added into the always-problematic timeturner, tended to take up most of her brain-space. Quite apart from what people seemed to think about her, she wasn't very good at keeping everything organized in her head. That was what planners were for.

And she certainly wasn't going to put "Remember to worry about mass-murderer!" anywhere on her list.

No, Sirius didn't owl her back. She was torn over how she ought to feel about this. On the one hand, she really didn't feel like talking to him. But on the other – and much more prominent – side of the coin, she chewed her fingernails down to the bleeding point whenever she had the time to imagine Peter casting the Cruciatus on _him_…

_"…not that petty…"_

Lord. Maybe she really was, when she thought about it.

In the meantime, she discovered, much to her woe, that Harry had had a very misleading article written about him. _Very_ misleading indeed.

"Why Granger," a nastily familiar voice called across the hall to her one day, "I never knew you and the Potty were so close! I feel horrendous for your children, though – buck teeth and glasses, can't you just imagine it?"

Hermione let her breath out in irritation and tried to ignore Malfoy. It didn't even register until her next turn of the timeturner that he had teased her about _Harry_, instead of Ron (as was his usual misinterpretation).

Her wonderings were answered, however, when she got to her last period of the day, with Harry and Ron. Ron, scowling, slid her over a colorful-looking _Daily Prophet_ page…

From the moment she saw the name "Rita Skeeter", she felt a horrible sense of foreboding.

_"Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts… one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school."_

Hermione frowned. "Only two out of four," she said, annoyed. "How horrible of her."

"Two out of four?" Ron said.

She decided to take it with some humor. "I'm not in love with Harry, and I've never before been accused of being 'stunning'."

Ron's mouth dropped. "You shouldn't – that is-"

"Oh please," she said, waving a hand. "I'm perfectly mediocre and quite proud of it." That was somewhat of a lie, but then, every girl had to dream.

It seemed to satisfy Ron to some extent, however, because he fell silent for the rest of class.

Time slowed down, for the remainder of the time between then and the first task of the tournament. Hermione spent her extra time in the library, alternately worrying about Sirius (who still had not responded) and trying to decide how best to prepare Harry. The problem, of course, was that they had no idea what the first task _was._ By the Saturday before the task, the best she had come up with was to go over a long list of spells they'd already learned and practice a few new, generally useful ones, until he was too tired to continue. And then some, if she could manage it.

"Aren't you going to Hogsmeade, though?" Harry asked her when she mentioned this to him.

Hermione scoffed. "You think a bunch of candy is more important than you living through this stupid thing?" she asked him. "Besides, I don't even eat the sugary kind."

She politely ignored his utterly relieved expression and took him to an empty classroom to prepare.

They worked their way steadily through the syllabus from first year up – Hermione skipped the spells she was certain he knew already and the ones that would generally be useless (such as showering and hair-braiding charms). By the time she got up to their current level of knowledge, he was already wearing out.

"Harry," she said sternly as he lackadaisically beckoned at a pillow to float over to him (it ignored him).

"What?" he asked, blinking tiredly.

"It's only seven," she said. "I'll let you go in another thirty minutes or so, but the Summoning charm is really very useful, and if it'll mean the difference-"

Reminded of the dire situation, Harry relented, and gestured more forcefully at a quill on the other side of the room. "Accio quill!" he said.

It raised itself from the table and slowly (but steadily) moved through the air and into his hand.

"That's good," she said, and she meant it. "Let's practice on getting your speed up, though – if there's something charging you, for instance-"

"All right!" Harry said with a shudder. "We'll work on my speed."

By the end of the thirty minutes (which had, somewhere along the way, turned into an hour and a half) Harry was making things zoom around quite easily. Hermione had just decided to see how far she could stretch his newfound determination with another spell when a knock sounded on the door.

"Er – is 'Arry in there?" came Hagrid's scratchy voice, slightly muffled.

Hermione yawned suddenly, despite herself, and walked over to open the door. Hagrid did indeed stand beyond, looking slightly nervous but nonetheless very excited.

"Hagrid?" Harry asked, catching the pillow in his right hand.

"Oh – yer practicin'!" the giant man said, closing the door behind him. "Well I, ah – don't mean ter interrupt-"

"No, no!" Harry said with a hasty look at Hermione. "We were just finishing."

She opened her mouth to protest, at first – but found herself suddenly unable to speak as she saw a tiny, feathered shape suddenly ping into the glass window that hung over the doorway.

"See?" Harry said, moving toward the door. "We can talk somewhere else – er – away from the practice room-"

He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open with a creak – Hermione felt her heart stop as the tiny owl bolted past him, toward her, unnoticed.

Geronimo flung itself into her chest, chattering excitedly, even as the door closed behind Harry with a resounding slam.

He was holding a letter, in a very familiar, elegant script.


	13. The Hungarian Horntail

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

This is a long chapter. It'll have to last you, because I'm going out to visit relatives until Wednesday (which, incidentally, does not guarantee that I will post on Wednesday either). Also: starting the Sirius countdown. Two chapters from here, he shows up.

Questions are all answered in this giant paragraph…

Firstly, no one knows who Hermione will go to the ball with yet as it hasn't even been announced. Of course, that's not what you were asking, but that's your answer anyway. As for Sirius, he may not notice anything at all about Hermione because of the way he shows up (/horrible, tantalizing hints). And I end on cliffhangers because I am an evil, evil woman. Or possibly because I get tired and go to bed. You're free to believe what you like.

**Chapter 12 – The Hungarian Horntail**

"Challenge is a dragon with a gift in its mouth…Tame the dragon and the gift is yours."  
**-Noela Evans**

Hermione's heart thudded loudly in her own ears as she stared at the letter that was clutched in her hands. She forgot to breathe for just a second – the blood in her ears sounded like an ocean, waves crashing and ebbing strangely in the sudden silence of the room.

Slowly, as though in a dream, she slid the small paper open.

There were only two sentences written, and no signature.

_I'm coming back. Get Harry through the First Task._

She stared at the paper for a moment, dumbfounded.

Well. Just what she and Lupin had both been hoping for. He was giving up on Peter and coming back – and he was going to be near Harry again.

Hermione fingered the letter nervously, though, and stared at it, as though waiting for another few sentences to materialize. Such as 'Yes, I'm fine' or 'I'm sorry I didn't tell you Lucius Malfoy cast an Unforgivable on you.' Possibly 'I've been a stupid jerk, please forgive me'. Well, so that last one wasn't so likely – she had dreams too, though.

Hermione sighed and scratched Geronimo underneath the chin.

"I'll send something back, this time," she said quietly.

The owl cooed beneath her fingers.

000000

As soon as Hermione came down to the commonroom the next morning, she noticed that Harry was sleeping in one of the armchairs by the fire. What she noted second was that he was still in his original robes – suggesting that he hadn't even gone up to his dormitory in the first place.

Had he stayed out the whole night with Hagrid?

She moved closer to the chair, brows knit with some inexplicable worry. Hermione stretched out her hand and tapped him very gently on the shoulder.

"Harry?"

His eyes shot open so quickly she let out a panicked squeak and leapt back.

Harry blinked, then grinned apologetically. "Light sleeper," he told her.

Hermione smiled back weakly. "So… why are you down here?"

He looked confused for a moment before enlightenment appeared on his face. "Dragons," he said.

Hermione rubbed at her forehead, trying to make sense of it all at a much too early hour of the day. "Dragons?" she asked. "What about them?"

Harry sighed. "That's the first task. Hagrid showed me, even though he wasn't supposed to. I've got to fight a _dragon_, Hermione, what am I going to do?"

Her mouth went dry. "But they- they wouldn't- _dragons?_" She wanted to add a dramatic 'but you'll be killed!' to the end, but it probably wouldn't have been very good for his confidence.

He fell back into the chair, looking glum. "I don't know what they're doing. But I've got no idea how to fight a dragon – they're immune to just about everything. Do you remember anything from Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

Hermione shook her head. "The only countermeasure in the textbook was 'run away'." She paused. "Are you _certain_ you have to fight them?"

Harry blinked. "No," he said. "No, I'm not. I think we just have to get _past_ one."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and thought very, very hard. Perhaps harder than she'd ever thought in her life.

_Get Harry through the First Task._

There was no room for failure. None at all.

She would have to do some research.

"We're going to the library today," she informed Harry.

For once, he seemed to take those words with relief rather than resignment.

000000

After five hours straight in the library (where had the time _gone?_) and very little progress, Hermione was desperate to find _something_.

"I _wish_ I could ask Hagrid about all those books he has on dragons," she said to Harry confidentially. "But if anyone ever found out…"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, slamming a book shut and earning a dirty look from Madame Pince. "I don't want him in trouble. He's already helped enough."

Hermione nibbled at her bottom lip nervously, staring at the sentence in front of her but not really reading it.

"Wouldn't it be nice if you could just figure out a solution in a crystal ball for me?" Harry mumbled under his breath, half-jokingly.

But Hermione's breath hitched.

_Could I?_

Not in a crystal ball… but if she could remember how he'd survived it _once_… had this happened, to that other her and the other Harry? She wasn't even certain things _had_ changed at all, if she could somehow trigger the damn memories…

"God, this is hopeless," Harry sighed, letting his head fall onto the archaic book in front of him carelessly. "I may as well just die right here."

"Shut _up_, Harry," Hermione said in a hiss, feeling her stomach go queasy at the thought. "Don't you _dare_ talk like that, even joking!"

"I _was_ only joking, Hermione," he muttered into the pages, sounding alarmingly unconcerned.

She tried to block him out, searching her memory for the times she'd remembered things, true things, about the future…

_How did they start? What set them off…_

"I wish I were playing Quidditch instead," he sighed miserably. "That, at least, I know how to do."

_What?_

Hermione's eyes widened.

_"Accio, Harry, say it with me-"_

Yes! That was what she had taught it to him for!

"Harry!" she breathed. "You're a genius."

He looked up at her blearily. "I am?" he asked. "Is it going to save me?"

Hermione felt her face break out into a shameless grin. "Yes. Yes it is."

000000

Hermione didn't actually sleep that night. Though she had the feeling that Harry wasn't sleeping much either. He was probably up filling Ron in on the gory details of his game-plan.

Her stomach twisted in worry when she got up early the next morning, and she wondered inwardly if even Harry was this worried for himself. In point of fact, he had seemed quite relieved to have a magic solution handed to him; he seemed to think that Hermione was infallible.

But what if she was wrong? What if she hadn't been drilling Harry on the Summoning Charm for this purpose? What if it had been class help or something for the OWLs, later?

No. No, that couldn't be right. This _felt_ correct, it was the right way. It had to be.

Maybe she could help him with fire-protection charms, tonight, though…

"…the properties of Spongegrass, Miss Granger?"

She sucked in her breath and looked up at Professor Sprout. "It absorbs caustic liquids," she responded cautiously.

Hermione let out a relieved breath as Sprout beamed at her. "Good, good, Miss Granger, as usual…"

She really needed to stop worrying. Her father had said it wasn't good for her stomach.

When Harry got out of his own lessons, by dinner, Hermione took him and Ron aside and told them she was going to help Harry with fire-protection charms that night. Ron looked tempted to opt out when she mentioned using him as a test dummy, but he stood a little straighter a moment later and nodded his assent. Hermione thought she had never been more proud of him before, perhaps excepting the Chess Match in their first year.

"I wish I were as good at these as Wendelin the Weird," Harry muttered to himself partway through, at which point both Hermione and Ron looked at him in surprise.

"You _paid attention_ in History of Magic?" Ron asked him.

"No he doesn't," Hermione said with a frown. "That wasn't covered in the lecture, in was in…"

"Summer homework," Harry confirmed. "I was eating ice cream at the time, it's just stuck with me."

"You _do summer homework?_" Ron asked, but this time he was grinning.

Hermione rolled her eyes and gestured them both back to their places in front of the commonroom fire.

"My hand is going to be red for a week from this, mate," Ron grumbled at Harry. "You owe me."

It was true that Harry hadn't yet gotten the hang of the fire-protection charms. Hermione wasn't sure what it was – there wasn't anything wrong with the way he was holding his wand, and his inflection had been drilled to perfection over the course of an hour.

She tapped her fingernails on a nearby table frustratedly. "Maybe… maybe try _really_ emphasizing the last bit…"

"We tried that already, Hermione," Ron said guardedly.

"Well… well yes, but we could try again…"

Harry sighed. "Look, maybe we're all just tired," he said. "I'll bet I pull it off better tomorrow-"

"You _are_ willing to bet on that?" Hermione observed frustratedly. "What if this thing _breathes_ on you, Harry, there's no way anyone could act quickly enough!"

_"Death, because of a failed fire-protection charm – most likely due to a panic attack…"_

She remembered with foreboding the passage she had read, and her fingers clenched about her wand in worry.

"Hermione…" Ron said, and she realized she was trembling.

_His glasses were broken, and she knew he had to be able to see if he was going to get back up and fight… but he wasn't going to fight, he was tinted green, he wasn't moving, and he wasn't ever going to fight again-_

_"Get up, Harry, GET UP!"_

"I don't want you to die, Harry," she whispered. "I really, really… don't want you to…"

"You forgot to activate it," a voice interrupted from behind her.

She stiffened in surprise, feeling someone behind her.

_Fred._

"There's this… tingly feeling you get when you cast it," Fred said in a voice thick with thought. "Erm… you really have to feel it to know what I mean, but you have to turn it inside out at the end…"

Harry blinked. "I- thanks, George."

"Fred," Hermione corrected automatically.

"Fred," Harry amended. Then – "How on earth did you know _that?_" he asked her.

Hermione blinked. "You know… I don't know."

Fred sighed from behind her and patted her on the shoulder before moving toward his dormitory.

"You were right," he muttered as he passed, looking almost sick to his stomach. "I wouldn't have wanted to face a dragon…"

Hermione realized with a sinking in her stomach that Fred had been listening much longer than she'd first thought.

"Hey!" Ron said, and she turned about in surprise to look at him.

He was holding his hand in the fire, wiggling the fingers happily. Harry looked tired, but satisfied.

"Thank god," Hermione sighed to herself.

000000

The First Task came very early and very nervously for Hermione. In no time at all, it seemed classes were gone and they were walking out to the stands to settle and _wait_.

Ron found her on the way from Ancient Runes and they sat together in silence as Bagman came out to announce how the challenge was going to take place. He used vague terms, such as 'creature', 'contestant', and 'measures of evasion' – but knowing what he was referring to was infinitely worse than trying to guess.

"Good old Crouch, right on time," someone muttered nearby. She moved over hurriedly to let Fred and George in next to them.

"Crouch?" she asked blankly, looking at Fred. "What about him? What's he doing here?"

He blinked. "He's one of the judges, didn't you pay attention at all?"

"During the Welcoming Feast, you mean?" George said from his other side. "Nope, not at all. She left early, remember?"

Hermione remembered belatedly that she had missed much of the introduction on the Tournament itself. The Welcoming Feast, the choosing of the names…

They'd brought out a slightly plump, but still vicious-looking dragon in a muzzle – a gasp went up in unison as the large group of wizards, Charlie among them, tugged it out gently. It seemed to be in some sort of trance – probably due to the muzzle. Hermione had read up on the gear dragon tamers used-

George, from Fred's other side, sucked in his breath.

"You've got to be kidding me," he managed.

So Fred _hadn't_ mentioned it to him. Well, rather hard to do, actually, since he'd only found out the night before.

"Harry's got it in hand," she murmured over to him. She wasn't sure whether he'd actually heard her or not, but she had no time to find out.

"Shush up," Ron hissed, "the first person's coming out!"

They all instantly quieted at this – the noise in the stands lowered to rushed hisses and whispers as the first champion emerged shakily.

Hermione wasn't sure whether to be relieved or even more nervous that it was Cedric Diggory.

The tamers had taken the muzzle off by now, and the dragon seemed to have come back to itself. Behind it had appeared a nest of eggs, one glinting gold amidst the rest.

_Oh no,_ she thought suddenly. _None of the other champions know about the dragons!_

Cedric seemed to have figured out a course of action, however, for he was pointing his wand at something indefinite and chanting.

Hermione squinted her eyes even while her heart began to race. Was that transfiguration? What kind of transfiguration would get rid of a dragon-

A cute little dog appeared in place of a rather large rock, and Hermione groaned.

"That's an interesting way to tackle it," Bagman was saying. "I wonder if it'll actually work."

Hermione frowned as the dragon seemed to waver in indecision. Cedric was now standing stock still, while the dog cocked its head at the threatening figure before it.

_It just **had** to be black,_ she thought with a huge sigh, letting her head fall into her hands miserably.

"Tell me when it's over," she said in a muffled tone. "I can't watch."

There was the sound of wing beats, and then a burst of flame. Something down below thudded sickeningly.

"That's some maneuver there!" Bagman bellowed, sounding amazed. "I didn't know dragons could _move_ that fast!"

"Ouch," Ron hissed next to her. "That had to hurt."

Hermione parted her fingers with trepidation, but didn't notice the field at all. Instead, she saw Fred's knuckles, white against each other as he clenched his hands on his legs. He looked terrified.

"Well, it looks like our champion got his egg anyway – but he's going to need a few hours with a medic, let me tell you!"

Fred looked about to throw up.

"Er… what happened?" Hermione asked timidly.

"The dragon went for 'em both," Ron said. "Those things are _uncanny!_ God, I don't know if even the Firebolt'll go fast enough… what if it just snatches Harry right out of the sky-"

"'Scuse me," Fred gasped. He bolted from the stands suddenly, white-faced.

Hermione blinked, looking after him worriedly.

George moved over with a sigh. "He's _dead_ scared of dragons," he told her in a low voice. "Don't know why, it must be from when he visited Charlie in Romania that once…"

Hermione remembered the way Fred had looked the night before, and suddenly understood.

"It's a good thing he didn't get into the Goblet," Hermione said with a shiver. "What if he'd been the one out there on the field…"

George stared down from the stands silently, and Hermione had the feeling he was agreeing with her.

_"I'm so sorry, George…"_

Hermione shuddered. That particular memory never became easier to deal with.

The Beauxbatons student was walking out now to meet a green, ferocious-looking dragon.

Hermione had barely paid attention to the students from Beauxbatons, but she noted now that their champion looked strangely familiar. Not surprising – everything was beginning to look strangely familiar these days, and she seemed to get déjà vu every other minute – but this time she had the feeling she really had seen her like before. It had to do with the blonde hair, she decided. Perhaps this girl had Malfoy ties?

She realized a moment later that she was wrong, though. The girl – Fleur was her name – began to sway, her wand snaking in strange circles before her. Hermione raised her eyebrows. A Veela?

No. But very, very close.

"Bet she'll do well," Ron was saying dazedly.

Hermione decided not to comment on his tone, but it did indeed seem that Fleur would get her egg.

The dragon's scaly eyes began to close, as it weaved about with the wand - the next moment, it thudded to the ground in a sound sleep.

"I must say, I haven't seen _that_ one before," Bagman was saying in a hushed voice. "Very… very… enchanting…"

George let out a slight snort and Hermione followed his gaze to Bagman's place in the stands. He seemed to have fallen asleep himself.

A moment later, looking irritated, Bartemius Crouch stomped up to the announcer's spot and shook him violently awake.

"Er, yes, where was I?" Bagman muttered.

_Definitely_ part Veela.

Fleur moved slowly toward the dragon's nest to get her egg – but as she was stepping carefully over the dragon's snout, it let out a small snort of flames.

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a shriek and stumbled backward. A good deal of her skirt had burst into flame, and she had to sit down to beat it out before finally soaking the whole thing with her wand.

The dragon snored on happily, its tail thudding peculiarly back and forth as though it were a dog.

Fleur limped over to the eggs and picked the golden one out quickly before stumbling over to the medical tent. The dragon handlers seemed very happy to re-muzzle this particular dragon, as it slept peacefully on through the process.

Hermione saw the scores this time, as she wasn't hiding her head like a frightened little girl – Fleur got fairly good marks from most of the judges, but as she had been hit, they were lower than Hermione might have expected.

"I wish Fred had seen _that_ one instead," she muttered.

George said nothing, but Hermione had the feeling he was agreeing with her.

"There's only two more," Ron said from her other side. "The next one's _got _to be Harry…"

Charlie and the others were pulling out a large, sinuous red dragon now, its body curling and twisting as they did so. Apparently, no muzzle existed that would sufficiently calm it – Hermione winced as it snapped its tail violently toward Charlie, who leapt nimbly out of the way with a practiced movement. Hermione could only imagine how Mrs. Weasley would react at home, having his hand point to 'Mortal Peril'.

"I _hope_ this one's not Harry," Ron amended, looking a bit pale.

_What about Krum?_ Hermione wanted to say, but she knew it was a bad time to bring up that particular facet of the problem.

In truth, she wouldn't have wished this creature on any one of the champions – it looked even quicker than the last two. The idea of duck-footed Krum out maneuvering it would have been laughable, if the situation weren't so serious. The idea of Harry on his broom trying to keep out of its way reminded her all too much of a mouse and serpent.

She suppressed her shudder at this and watched with a nervous knot in her stomach as the third Champion came out of the fenced enclosure.

_Krum._

Hermione tried not to feel too relieved at this development and found she'd partially succeeded. She was worried about the Bulgarian as well – and well, why not, with everyone else she had to worry about these days?

"I bet Krum will do well," Ron said confidently, sounding as relieved as she had felt, at first. "He got in the tournament, after all."

Hero worship apparently expanded one's expectations beyond the credible.

George gave a low whistle as Krum approached the dragon, who was eyeing the Champion in a sickeningly still position, as though getting ready to strike once he came into range. "I hope he's got an idea what he's going to do," the twin said beneath his breath, Bagman's commentary sounding in the background.

Krum stopped where he was, and seemed to consider the thing before him for a moment. Hermione's hand clenched helplessly as she saw the dragon pull back to strike –

She realized, in that instant, just why the dragon bothered her so much in particular. It reminded her very much of the Basilisk, the way she had seen it in that splinter of a second before she had fallen into shady dreams of vicious phantoms and monsters that she couldn't run from…

Someone poked her in the shoulder, and she realized she wasn't breathing.

"He's got it in hand," George said. "Stop looking like you're going to keel over."

Hermione tried to oblige him as she looked down at the field. Krum had hit the dragon with something between the eyes – it was thrashing about in pain and confusion. Krum was running now, ducking its whipping tail and going for a flash of gold between the eggs…

He came back out with the golden egg in hand just as the tail hit where he had been – Hermione winced at the splat of eggs. Hagrid would have given him a zero, after that.

Hagrid was not judging, though, and Karkaroff in particular gave Krum a perfect 10. Hermione supposed it was believable, as Krum hadn't gotten injured at all himself.

Meanwhile, the tamers were working furiously to catch the thing again – Charlie finally pulled his wand with a heavy sigh and fired off a stunning hex. He was quickly echoed by the others, and the dragon went down quietly.

"Didn't want it damaging the rest of the eggs, I'd bet," George observed.

Hermione had very little knowledge of the area, so she took his word for it. The tamers brought out their final creature, then, and she swallowed. It was a pitch black dragon, and it looked… incredibly large, to her eyes. Its eyes were yellowed and narrow, and its tail sported a row of wicked looking spikes. This dragon, too, was struggling, and making a better job of it than the last. The tamers' muscles strained on ropes holding it in place as it entered the stadium.

At first, she thought it might have been her imagination, making it seem even more formidable, but then she realized that the entire stadium had gotten louder in excitement. They all knew who was coming out of that fence this time.

"Last one," she said to Ron with a tightness in her chest. "This will be Harry."

He nodded, not taking his eyes off of the fence where Harry was supposed to come out. A moment later, he appeared obligingly, looking very small and nervous (though it might have been Hermione's imagination).

Harry began to walk resolutely out to meet his opponent, wand out. Hermione began to chew on the inside of her cheek as he cast the fire-protection charm and raised his hand. The dragon watched him with evil eyes, hunched over its eggs.

From where she was, Hermione couldn't hear the words he yelled, but she knew what they were anyway.

_Accio__ Firebolt._

She held her breath. This was it. The true test of everything they had drilled on, everything they'd spent days trying to beat into his head. What if it didn't come at all, what if it was too far- it was all Harry now, there was just nothing she could do to help him-

Hermione slumped in relief as she saw the broom speed into his hand obligingly. Brooms had always loved Harry, for no clear reason she could decipher. It certainly wasn't a sense for fear, like horses – Harry was probably trembling like a maniac at the moment.

He rose sharply into the air, jerking to the side as the beast took a bite at him. Hermione let out an involuntary squeak of fear, at which point both Ron and George were forced to look at her with surprise (Ron) and amusement (George).

"Oh shut up," she muttered, despite the fact that neither had actually said a word.

But it meant quite a bit to her when George patted her comfortingly on the shoulder.

Harry was swerving and diving with the speed of a falcon now – a common sight to any who had seen him in Quidditch before. But today, he seemed even faster, as though he was more keenly aware of what he was doing. The dragon was becoming frustrated with him, snapping just seconds behind him at the air. At one point, it let out a burst of flame; Hermione held her breath as she waited for it to clear, then saw that Harry had neatly dodged it.

Slowly, he rose farther into the air, until the stubborn dragon fluttered its wings – just a little – to rise into the air after him.

Harry dove.

Hermione's hands went to her mouth. He'd forgotten about the tail – it was snapping back at him, like a horse would hit a fly, and he was reeling back slightly – was that _blood-_

He kept going insistently, though, and scooped up the golden egg from the rest of the pile.

The whistle blew.

Charlie moved first, rushing out to stun the dragon without prelude. It snarled angrily as the others followed, throwing red beams at it by the dozens. After what seemed like an eternity, the thing went down, and the tamers as a group hurried to pull it back into its holding area.

Hermione shot to her feet immediately, rushing down to the field. She wasn't sure whether the other two were following or not, but at the moment it didn't matter. From where she'd been sitting, it had looked as though Harry had taken a full-on torso hit from the tail-

She pushed past the flap of the medi-tent quickly, looking about for Harry's figure. She saw Fleur resting her leg on a bench, and Cedric – well, that was best not to think of – but Harry…

"Where's Harry?" she asked Pomfrey quickly. "Is he in the back-"

The older woman scowled. "He's not come in here – he's probably gone up to the stands."

Hermione turned about without a beat – and gasped to find herself facing the object of her search head-on.

Harry blinked as she backed up quickly, working for her breath. "Hermione?"

She put a hand to her forehead and caught her breath – then leapt to throw her arms about him without a pause. "Thank goodness you're all right!" she gasped. "I thought – well I thought you had gotten very hurt! It hit you straight on in the chest-"

Harry blinked again. "No it didn't," he said.

Hermione stopped and stepped back from him, noting as she did that Ron and George had finally caught up with her in the tent.

"But…" she said weakly. "I clearly saw it hit you – you flew back-"

"Oh," Harry said, understanding on his face. "I guess it might have looked like that – I was just pulling back from it. There's no mark, Hermione, it missed by inches."

"I'll be the judge of that," Madam Pomfrey said in a business-like tone, rushing him over to a table. "Off with the shirt, dear."

Harry winced in embarrassment, but did as she asked. Hermione saw as he did so that, indeed, there was no mark on him.

"All right, go get your scores," Pomfrey said, with a scornful emphasis on the word _scores_, as though all young people risked their lives on a daily basis for them. "But go and get something to eat straight afterward, or you'll get yourself sun sick."

Harry muttered a quick "yes'm" and leapt off the table, grabbing his shirt.

Hermione noticed, as he did, a tiny glint of gold on his chest.

She stopped for a moment, expression concentrated – then hurried after him.


	14. A Twitch in Time

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

Questions:

1) Glint of gold? A glint of gold? What does that mean? Huh, huh, tell me now, I want to knoooow!

Answered in the chapter.

2) As for Ron: yes, well, he's still part of the (now-doubtable) trio, so he's going to get some time. I just don't like trying to write him as _him_ too much. He's a brat.

3) Eh, Fred's not so much a hero as a penitent jerk. "OMG, you SO helped Harry try to get himself killed!" sort of deserves something bigger than a little sorry.

4) Hagrid? Hmm? What? Oh… I don't know. (smile.) And I WILL make you wait, you horrible woman. But you'll probably figure it out on your own before I let it loose and then I'll start banging my head on my computer screen in exasperation when I read your theories. It's how these things go. And as for suspense – I'm only taking a leaf out of J.K.'s book, hopefully. I've been trying to use parts of her writing style, as it's fanfiction. I'm finding things I like and things I don't like…

5) George. Ah. George.

I've said that before, haven't I? Well, I'm repeating myself.

And _yes_, you silly people. Sirius comes in the next chapter. (I mean, really, he's only an insanely important part of the story. Psh.)

**Chapter 13 – A Twitch in Time**

"Time is just something that we assign. You know, past, present, it's just all arbitrary. Most Native Americans, they don't think of time as linear; in time, out of time, I never have enough time, circular time, the Stevens wheel. All moments are happening all the time."  
**-Robin Green and Mitchell Burgess**, _Northern Exposure_

Harry's scores were by far the best – in point of fact, the only judge to count him off at all was Karkaroff, who sent a very sulky looking seven into the air.

Ron seethed for hours afterward, but Harry seemed to be in high spirits. It was only once they got back to the dormitory to find a slightly pale-looking Fred waiting that she realized George was gone.

There was no help for it at the moment, though – Hermione had something she had to do.

"Harry," she said. "Come here."

He obliged her easily, just as the first students began to pour into the commonroom.

"Harry," Hermione said, "I don't think you actually dodged the dragon."

Harry blinked. "Why would you say that?"

Hermione hooked a finger onto the chain hanging around his neck and pulled. The tiny golden locket appeared from beneath his shirt.

"I think this did something," she said seriously.

Harry looked down at it as though seeing it for the first time. His brow knit. "I- I forgot that was there… weird…"

Their conversation was interrupted by two butterbeers, thrust between them.

"Drink up," George said with a grin. "You earned it, mate."

Harry grinned back and took a long gulp from the drink. Hermione eyed hers suspiciously for a moment – one never knew when one would regret eating something around the twins – but took a small sip herself.

It warmed her from the inside out, and she felt her tension falling away slowly as Harry went to sit down in an armchair and relax.

"Well – let's go," George said, once she had finished.

Hermione blinked in surprise. "Go… where, exactly?"

"The kitchens, of course," he replied. "We've got to go get enough food for the whole commonroom."

It might have been something about the drink, or something about Harry's death-defying day, or even something about George's expectant expression: Hermione said yes.

000000

"So," George said cheerily as they exited the portrait hole (as though they _weren't_ out after curfew and they _weren't _going to go pilfer a good amount of food from the kitchens). "Exciting day, yes?"

Hermione found herself thinking back over it. Interesting, yes. Most definitely interesting…

_"Dumbledore's been hinting something interesting is going to happen at Hogwarts…"_

The letter!

_Sirius!_

Hermione realized that in all the chaos, she'd forgotten to owl him and let him know Harry had gotten through all right. He was probably biting his fingernails down to the skin, just like her…

"Hermione? Hello? Anyone home?"

George waved his hand in front of her face, and she realized she'd stopped in the middle of the hall.

"Sorry," she sighed. "I just have so much to think about, sometimes I go off on my own…"

George looked her over slowly, and she had the unnerving feeling that he had begun to put things together again. He went back to walking.

"I guess I'm just worrying my head off about everything," she murmured. "There's… well, there's just so much going _on_, lately."

"So you're worried about Harry?" George asked as he turned a corner.

"Well… _yes_," Hermione said frustratedly. "I can't think of another one of my friends whose life seems to be constantly in danger. I _swear_, he's a trouble magnet, and I'm always the one cleaning up for him!" She stopped as she realized what she was saying.

"That was unfair of me, wasn't it?" she sighed.

George shrugged, ahead of her. "Just depends on your point of view, I guess. It's not like anyone set you down and said 'You, take care of Harry.' In a way, it is a little unfair to have to take it all on yourself."

_Ah,_ Hermione thought ironically, _But__ someone **did** ask me to take care of him._

"But," George continued, stopping at the portrait of the fruit basket. "That's what friends do." He reached out toward the pear, and wiggled his fingers – it began to laugh, a high squeaky laugh, and she smiled suddenly.

"George-" she started.

"And you need to relax," he said. "You don't relax enough."

"Would sir and miss like some apple pie?" a house elf squeaked as they entered.

"Wiggy has some cookies, take some cookies-"

"-and some hot chocolate-"

Hermione groaned and hid behind George, belatedly remembering that she'd promised herself she would never come down here again.

George grinned broadly, however, and took what was offered. "Could we get some trifle, too?"

Hermione crept away from the concentration of elves that were now pushed in all about George. She almost felt bad about leaving him with the snacks – for the other students' sakes, not his – but the entire dragon thing had just about drained her. She lowered herself onto the floor in front of a fireplace in the corner and set her head dully onto her knees, staring into the flames…

_"Sirius?"_

_He didn't move at her hesitant call. He was laying, face down, on the kitchen table. There were bottles on the floor, some broken, and the smell of alcohol pervaded the room._

_He's probably snoring, she thought suddenly, disgusted._

_Hermione sat down across from him, despite the fact that he hadn't even acknowledged her presence._

_She plucked at imaginary dust on her nightclothes and drew her knees up to her chin. Staring at him._

_"Harry really looks up to you," she told him, knowing he couldn't hear. "And here you go setting this kind of example for him…"_

"Miss? Miss, is you all right?"

Hermione blinked her eyes drowsily and looked up. A house elf was standing next to her – she couldn't really say he was looking _down_ at her, as he was just barely her height while she was so curled up, but he did seem concerned.

The house elf's eyes widened as she looked at him. "Miss is Harry Potter's friend," he said in an awed whisper. "Miss was in the hospital wing, petrified…"

_Yellow, staring eyes, darknessfeelingnightmaresallthetime-_

She started, stumbling to her feet.

"Dobby remembers," the elf nodded. "Miss looked very lonely, all alone."

Hermione belatedly realized that she knew this elf. Not by his face, but by his name.

"_Dobby?_" she asked. "Aren't you the one that almost got Harry expelled?"

Dobby moaned. "Oh, but it was for his own _good_, Miss, Harry Potter was in grave danger-"

"So you work here now?" she said dazedly, somewhat ignoring him.

Dobby beamed. "Professor Dumbledore told Dobby he could work at Hogwarts. He even said- he said- Professor Dumbledore _pays_ Dobby for his work!" This last came out in a voice tinged with guilty pleasure.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Hermione said with a frown. "Everyone _else_ gets paid for their work, so I don't see why you shouldn't."

"Oi, Hermione!" George called from the doorway. "Time to go!"

Hermione smiled at Dobby and held out her hand. He stared at it, puzzled, until she grabbed his and shook it. "My name is Hermione Granger," she said. "It's nice to meet you."

Dobby blinked, then shook her hand back – rather more excitably. "Dobby is very glad to meet you too, Hermione Granger! If you ever need anything, please tell him!"

"Hermione – what are you _doing?_"

George had come up behind her, struggling with a mountain of food packages. She laughed and moved to help him with them, and only cast one last glance over her shoulder at Dobby before George kicked the painting shut.

Hermione looked around at the large surplus of packages, wondering momentarily how they were going to carry them all. An idea came to her then, and she carefully set her own down to the floor, pointing her wand at them.

"_Legatus_," she told it firmly. "March to it."

The food packages rose off the ground, and George raised his eyebrows from behind his own stack.

Getting an idea, Hermione turned to him. "Put yours down too," she said. "I'll get those."

He obliged her, and she repeated the spell.

Then: "Follow him back to the commonroom," she ordered the food, pointing her wand at him.

It worked, to her surprise – the packages began to cluster about George, as though waiting for him to move.

"What, you're not coming?" he asked.

"I have to post a letter," Hermione said. "It's probably better for you to get back with all of that, though, so I'll sneak over on my own."

_Sneak,_ she thought with a shudder. _What a perfectly awful word._

George eyed her for a moment. "Fine," he said. "I guess I can save you a cookie or two. Don't expect more, though – Gryffindors are heavy eaters."

Hermione smiled in a relieved way and nodded, picking up the hem of her robes and moving around the corner.

_It's worth a few house points to let Sirius know Harry's okay,_ she thought to herself. _Though I'd really rather it not come to that._

Hermione tried to remember how to be silent – she was sure she'd learned at some point – but either her ears had become very sensitive or she was simply not managing it.

On inspiration, she pointed her wand at her feet and murmured "_Quiete_"

The noise stopped.

As Hermione later slipped into the owlery with a careful hand on the door, she thought involuntarily of the horrific events that would take place should the Weasley twins ever actually pay attention in class. A vision appeared in her head of utter pandemonium. She gave a slight shudder and grabbed an owl treat from Harry's tin, already feeling guilty, though the chances of him noticing were slim to none.

"Hedwig," she said with a sigh, seeing that the owl was already awake. "I'm so, so sorry. I really _ought_ to get an owl, oughtn't I?"

The owl seemed resigned, however, as she lifted her front talon obligingly.

Hermione held out the treat first, and allowed Hedwig to take it in her beak. Then, she walked to the door to set a chair carefully against it and set herself down to write.

Well. Nothing like short and sweet. Because obviously (obviously!) she was still annoyed with him.

_S,_

_Harry got through the First Task all right._

She stopped, and began to blow on the ink. That would be enough-

But her hand continued to move as she thought of how relieved she'd been and how well he'd done…

_"That's what friends do,"_ George had said.

She sighed and wrote out another paragraph.

_He actually did better than all right – he was best out of them all. The Task was to get past a dragon and collect an egg – nerve wracking from the stands, let me tell you. It probably is best that you weren't here worrying like me, I suppose. Harry ended up summoning his Firebolt and diving for the thing. In a way, you're the reason he came out in one piece. I take back everything I said about it being a great big present. It was very useful._

Hermione hesitated for the moment on whether she ought to tell him about the locket and her suspicions. But she supposed she could talk to him about it in greater detail once he got back.

Instead, she wrote:

_I hope you're doing all right where you are._

_-H_

She contemplated adding a post script that said _And__ I'm still angry with you_, but decided it would be too childish considering the circumstances.

"You're wonderful, Hedwig," Hermione said as she tied the letter to the owl's leg. "Sirius should be much closer by now, don't worry."

Hedwig took off a second later – and at the same time, Hermione heard a rattling from the door.

_Oh no._

Her hand went instinctively to the timeturner – _I could get out of it – but that would be **really** wrong, it wasn't entrusted to me to break rules with-_

A hot, fiery pain streaked through her head, and she let out a muffled cry. The timeturner dropped from her hand; Hermione only barely remembered to throw herself beneath the desk quickly as the sudden headache made her squeeze her eyes shut in pain.

As the pain in her head slowly disappeared, Hermione realized that no one had come through the door.

Slowly, _cautiously_, she looked around the side of the desk.

The door was still closed. But…

There was_ no chair._

Hermione got to her feet in surprise and rubbed at her forehead in confusion.

An owl hooted at her from its perch – she looked over and nearly fainted.

_Hedwig._

The snowy owl ruffled her feathers in surprise at her appearance, and Hermione walked over to her quickly.

Hedwig shuffled on her perch suspiciously, as though waiting for her to…

To…

Send a letter.

"Not now, Hedwig," Hermione said in a dazed voice. "But… well, I'll be here in a moment. I'll need you then."

The owl let out her breath all at once and settled herself irritatedly.

Hermione stared down at the timeturner.

_I must have jerked it around too much_, she thought. _It probably turned accidentally._

Feeling horribly guilty, but very relieved, Hermione slipped back out the door to the owlery – only to leap against the outer wall quickly as someone entered the hall.

She shrank against the wall as far as she could, wondering whether it was still past curfew…

Her eyes widened as the figure came into view.

_Me?_

She pulled back even farther, despite the fact that she _knew_ she wouldn't be seeing herself. Naturally, the other Hermione came to the door and pulled it open quietly, shutting it behind her. The sound of a chair against the handle whispered through the door to her ears.

The thought hit her that whoever it was that was going to push their way through the door was going to appear in a few minutes. She had until the other her finished writing the letter and sent it out.

Nevertheless, as she hid herself across the hall, Hermione thought on the disturbing event that had just occurred.

_The timeturner doesn't go back any less than an hour!_

Hermione moved into a shadowed corner and pulled her robes closer about her, hoping the black would make her blend in enough. There were no windows in this hall, and only a few guttering torches lit it. Hopefully, it would do.

She hadn't long to wait. Very soon, the sound of a slight person's footsteps echoed back to her. A shadow came into view, and began to walk furtively toward the owlery.

_Not a teacher, then?_ came the thought.

It was at this point Hermione became truly frightened. Her fingers clenched about her wand – she tried to remember how to sneak up on an opponent, if need be.

_Catch them from behind,_ Sirius had said. _You'll want to start with a stunning hex, naturally, but if it misses, follow up with a disarming curse before they can draw on you…_

The person's face came beneath a torch fairly close to her, and Hermione swallowed, feeling light-headed.

_Crouch?_

She shrank back even farther into her robes, not liking the angry contortions of his expression.

He strode up to the owlery quickly and tried the doorknob. It jiggled – but did little else.

Hermione knew that at this moment, she was diving beneath a desk and clutching at her head. It almost gave her a headache of her own, remembering.

"Locked?" Crouch muttered to himself. "Didn't know they locked the owlery here."

He turned about sharply on one foot and began to walk away from the door. Hermione felt herself stiffen as he passed her once more – but he didn't turn to look at her.

A few minutes after his footsteps stopped echoing down the hall, she felt her muscles relax somewhat.

Hermione got to her feet shakily, then stumbled back to the corner she needed to turn at, footsteps still silent.

She tried to walk slowly – tried to convince herself she wasn't being followed, that every tiny sound behind her wasn't Crouch or Filch, or someone (or something) even worse. Predictably, she failed.

A few seconds after turning the corner, Hermione broke into a dead run, footsteps silent on the stone floor. Her heart thudded so loudly in her chest, though, that she was certain anyone might be able to hear it.

When the Fat Lady's portrait finally came into sight, Hermione threw herself toward it thankfully. "Chipping Clodbury!" she gasped out.

"All right then, dear…" the woman sighed sleepily, opening up for her.

Hermione slipped in hurriedly and shut the portrait immediately behind her.

Darkness greeted her as she turned around. The only light in the room was a dimly flickering fire in the fireplace – it threw shadows of the furniture into frightening relief on the walls. The commonroom was quiet. And _empty._

Normally, Hermione would thank whatever god had been watching over her that she had no one to explain herself to. But at the moment, she found she would much rather deal with someone else than be alone in a silent room like this.

She shuddered and rubbed at her arms, moving toward the fire.

"Cookie?"

Hermione let out a breathless screech – something that probably sounded like a badly working telegraph - and fell backward onto the rug, pointing her wand at the speaker with both hands.

George blinked at her.

"All right then. I'll take it if you don't want it."

She remembered belatedly that he'd promised to save her a cookie.

Contrary to his words, George set the cookie down on the table next to him and got up to offer her a hand. Hermione took it, feeling incredibly stupid, and still somewhat shaky.

"All right?" he asked.

She nodded slowly and pulled herself up. Hermione realized she was still shaking as she collapsed into a chair.

"Let me guess," George said, throwing himself back into his own seat. "Filch? Snape?"

Hermione shook her head, trying to regain her breath.

"McGonagall?" he asked dubiously.

"Cr-crouch," Hermione corrected, feeling slightly sick.

George's began to nod knowingly – then, as though just realizing which name she'd said, his eyes opened wider, and his mouth fell open. _"Crouch?_" he asked. "Why would Crouch be sending a letter at this time of night?"

"More importantly," Hermione said, between deep breaths, "why is he even _here?_"

George frowned. "Well he was here today to judge, I suppose he might have stayed the night…"

"He doesn't seem the type to accept one of Dumbledore's invitations," Hermione said.

"…and I suppose he might have been sending something work-related – we know he's a workaholic…"

Hermione sighed. "Maybe I overreacted," she said to herself.

George seemed dubious of himself, but they were both much too tired to think on the matter further.


	15. Bitter Medicine

**Shattered Moments  
****By Rurouni Star**

Yes. Sirius comes in this chapter.

And, because I made you wait so very long – shameless fanservice. Really. I'm not having you on for once.

Lastly, school starts almost immediately after I post this. Therefore – the updates are going to go way down. I'm so sorry. I wish it could be different (_believe_ me, I wish) but school is school and it hates me.

**Chapter 14 – Bitter Medicine**

"It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend."  
**-William Blake**

Hermione woke in an armchair for the second time in recent memory, feeling dirty and disheveled. And, strangely, warm.

She blinked and looked down at the blanket thrown on top of her, eyes attempting to focus.

When had she fallen asleep? Why had she-

_"You'd better go to sleep, Hermione," Lupin told her. "He's probably not going to come back tonight, if he hasn't already."_

_She stared at the door pensively, trying not to hear him._

_"…not going to come back…"_

_The words were too foreboding. She didn't want to listen._

No. No, that wasn't last night.

She felt a chill, despite the blanket, and threw it from her quickly, rubbing at her eyes. She had simply drifted off to sleep in the long silence after her and George's conversation. Yes.

It was still somewhat dark outside. Hermione had to stumble about a little in order to fold up the blanket and find her wand inside her robes. She cast a few freshening charms and sighed, stretching her arms above her head.

She supposed it was late enough to go to the library.

000000

It was in Transfiguration that the day took a turn for the worse.

"I'm sorry, Professor…" Harry managed beside her. "I don't know that I heard that right. Could you please repeat it?"

McGonagall scowled at him and adjusted her glasses. "The Yule Ball, Potter. You will be needing a date, as you are going to be in the opening ceremony."

Hermione sighed and let her head thud to the desk. This… brought complications.

The sudden spurt of feminine giggles behind her confirmed her worst fears. It was… a girly occasion.

Not that she wasn't happy to use her robes and all (she had desperately wanted everyone to see her in them, if only for a little self-esteem boost) but the idea of having to hear about this _dance_ all the way until Christmas…

She shuddered, even as Harry groaned.

_Oh shut up,_ she thought in a burst of exasperation. _At least you don't have to dress like a girl for the blasted thing._

What was more, she was _sure_ Harry would have no problem finding himself a date. Whereas she was probably going to have to go alone.

"That is all I have to say on the matter," McGonagall sighed disapprovingly. Then, in a voice she probably thought no one else could hear: "We have enough teen drama about _without_ adding fuel to the fire…"

As usual, Hermione completely agreed with her.

As they left the classroom, Harry sighed. "I'm doomed," he muttered.

Hermione's eyebrow twitched. "And why is that?" she asked him. _Other than the fact that you're supposed to be dead in a few years time, why don't you worry about more important things, damn it-_

"I don't know how to dance," he said in misery.

Ron, from behind them, chuckled. "Perk up, mate," he said. "I don't think _any_ of us do. It's not like you'll be alone."

Hermione frowned and crossed her arms. "_I_ know how to dance," she said stiffly.

Ron stifled a rather unkind snicker. "What, did you learn that from a book too?"

She felt her face flush. "_Well_," she said. "If you're going to be like that about it!" Hermione stormed away, ignoring the fact that their next class was together anyway. "I was going to offer to teach you too!"

Harry, behind her, groaned again.

000000

By the end of the day, Hermione found herself so glum at the prospect of trying to get out of the entire Yule Ball fiasco that she almost missed the tiny speeding owl as it flew toward her. As it was, the poor thing banged into her forehead as she was walking back to the commonroom.

Hermione fell backward against the wall in surprise, books and papers flying everywhere as she tried simultaneously to get back up and to pull her wand.

Geronimo hooted dizzily, and she looked down to see him tottering uncertainly about by her ankles.

"_Oh_," she managed.

"Are you all right?" came a familiar voice.

Hermione looked up in alarm, one hand scooping the tiny owl behind her skirts.

"Here then, I'll give you a hand up," George offered, extending his right hand. Hermione blinked dazedly for a moment before grabbing it and hoping Geronimo would stay behind her.

He steadied her as she teetered dangerously, and Hermione suddenly noticed that he was very warm and… solid. Hmm.

It had to be the Yule Ball. It was sending her so very out of touch with the rest of the world…

"Er, Hermione?"

She blinked, then quickly backpedaled as she realized she was still holding George's hand. "Sorry," she said. "I'm just still a little shell-shocked I guess. Thank you, by the way."

George shrugged, suddenly looking uncomfortable. He flicked his wand carelessly without looking her in the eyes, and Hermione found herself faced with a neat pile of her belongings.

Slowly, she took the stack from him, wondering at his strange attitude.

"So," George said, clearing his throat. "Er, you – you heard about the whole… thing, today?"

"The Yule Ball announcement?" Hermione asked.

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Sort of unexpected, huh?"

Hermione shook her head slowly. "No, I should have expected it. I read up on the tournament, after all. I guess…" She struggled to find the words. "I guess I somehow thought they wouldn't go through with the Yule Ball this time, for some reason. Maybe I thought it was different."

George seemed so surprised by this that he was temporarily speechless. After the silence stretched on a bit, with one awkwardly puttering owl nudging her leg, Hermione smiled at him and patted her books with one hand. "Thanks a lot, George," she said. "I'd better get going, though, lots to do. I'll see you about."

He opened his mouth as she picked something else up and turned around to go, but seemed to think again about whatever he'd been about to say. "Yeah," he said finally. "I'll see you."

Once she was around the corner, though, Hermione opened her hands to look at Geronimo, who blinked back at her woozily.

He had a tiny, tiny note attached to his leg. Barely a scrap, really.

She slowly unrolled it, her breath in her throat.

_"I've returned,"_ it said. _"Please see me tomorrow."_

Hermione drew a deep, shuddering breath.

Tomorrow? Why tomorrow? Had he been expecting her to get the message late that night?

She bit her lip and looked around once before turning about to stride in the other direction, telling Geronimo to get something from the owlery. No matter the reason, she had too many questions. They weren't going to wait for 'tomorrow'.

Most of all, though she couldn't quite admit it to herself – she wanted to see him. She wanted to know he was all right.

But as she turned the last corner, she found herself irrationally stopped at the wall.

Her heart sped up nervously as she slowly lay a hand against the cold stone.

The strangest thought had occurred to her. What if he had changed? What if he didn't care about her anymore? What if that was why his letters had been so few and so curt-

She swallowed.

_What if he just doesn't want to see me anymore?_

It was a stupid thought considering he'd specifically asked her to see him the next day, but it lingered none-the-less.

Footsteps began to sound from far away, though, and Hermione found herself forced to choose quickly. She touched the corner between the walls, whispered the password, and pushed herself through with tightly closed eyes.

A dull red glow sprang up before her closed eyes. Hesitantly, she opened them.

The fire was going, high and warm, but the room was otherwise completely dark. The corners flickered in shadow, and the flames crackled softly in the silence. And laying on the couch, as she stepped around to look…

Hermione caught her breath.

His chest was softly rising and falling, beneath a ragged cloak, drawn about him. He seemed entirely dirty, too pale, too skinny – just as she remembered him being the first time she had met him. In only two months' time, Sirius Black had undone every bit of the year of effort she'd expended on his behalf.

Hermione stepped toward him, some strange part of her aching horribly at his appearance. Something slick and slithery caught on her toe – she looked down and saw the invisibility cloak, pooled in a silver heap on the floor. Next to it was a worn, fluttering piece of parchment. She picked them up numbly, depositing them on the table.

He looked so _tired_. Any thoughts she'd had before of waking him and demanding answers disintegrated as she stared at him, taking in his strained face with its shadows and cuts.

Slowly, Hermione knelt down beside the couch and looked him over. He had a few bruises and scratches all about – but most especially, his right arm seemed to be cradled against his chest. It was bruised, of course, but otherwise, something seemed very _off_ about the way it was placed.

On closer inspection, Hermione was horrified to note that there was a slight bump near his wrist, where a bone was pushing at the skin.

_Why didn't he get anyone to help?_ she thought in a panic. _That's definitely broken, he should have asked Dumbledore – god, he should've asked **me**-_

Despite this thought, it occurred to her that she hadn't the skill, the knowledge, or the materials to heal a broken bone. Hermione worried at her lip for a moment before stiffening as a thought occurred to her.

_The map.__ I have the map, and the cloak._

Almost immediately, she scrambled for the silver cloak, still hanging on the table. She whisked it over herself and, in the same movement, pulled the parchment inside its folds.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," she whispered hurriedly, staring impatiently as the lines of the castle spread out in front of her.

000000

_"Lily… Lily, don't-"_

_"Don't what? Tell you the truth about you and your other horrible little friends? Tell you exactly what it is you all need to hear?"_

_"You don't know what you're talking about!"_

_"Of course I do!" she screamed angrily. "You're just like the rest of your family, Sirius Black; you just changed your colors so you could pretend that you were better!"_

Sirius groaned as he awoke, feeling anew all the damage he had managed to accrue during his little vacation. His head was throbbing from lack of food, beating in time with his aching shoulder. He'd meant to get some food, but it had somehow slipped his mind once he'd lain down…

His arm was numb.

With a hoarse curse, he stumbled off the couch, one hand going to hold the other carefully. There was a moment of clumsiness as he realized he was under a blanket – no, a robe, much too small to even cover him. It slid to the floor even as he collapsed back onto the couch heavily.

He spat out a few more creative adjectives before realizing that the room was still empty and still quiet, but the cloak and the map were _gone._

Just as his mind was attempting to put things together, a faint scent wafted toward him, sweet and very familiar.

_Hermione._

This didn't make him feel any better at all.

He let his face fall to his hand, where he slowly rubbed at his face – then flinched at the feel of bruises.

Well. It wasn't as though he'd never been in worse condition. Quidditch and all…

_Right.__ Keep telling yourself that._

Sirius groaned and reached out for his wand. He really should have taken care of the little things earlier, but he'd been so bone _tired._

After a few minutes of work on the lesser cuts and bruises, he slowly stumbled to his feet and over to the right-most corner of the room, where he summoned a sudden spout of water over himself.

_No need to look like Snivellus,_ he thought to himself, attempting to find some amusement in it. He repeated the spell a few times, then added some soap and a bit of lemon for good measure. By the end of his self-made shower, the floor was near-flooded. With a last sigh, he spelled up most of the mess and leaned his good arm onto the couch arm, still soaked.

Despite the horrible effort it had taken, the exertion was well worth it. He almost felt human again.

He could really have gone for some food, though. And maybe the assurance that his arm wasn't going to fall off.

A sudden squeak of terror from the air sent his exhausted body into action before he could think rationally – Sirius lunged forward, just as the invisibility cloak flew upward to reveal two rather familiar feet, slipping on a puddle.

The landing jarred his arm so hard that he accidentally said something he probably shouldn't have. After all, he'd done his best not to curse in front of Hermione, as she was a little young and still impressionable…

Though he couldn't see much of anything, there was a hand on his chest and a soft, warm figure attached to it.

Hermione let out a tiny, confused breath as she tried to sit up – her hands caught on the material of the cloak, however, and then slid out from under her completely. Subsequently, her chin came into direct contact with his rib.

_Ow._

A little 'eep' escaped the air. "I'm so sorry!" she managed, more carefully extracting herself this time. He noted as she stood that the air was wobbling a little bit, as though he were looking at a heat wave. Interesting.

She peeled off the cloak quickly and threw it onto the back of the couch, then offered him a hand up. He took it with his left and hauled himself up carefully.

"I got you a potion out of the hospital wing," she said quickly, rummaging about in a pocket for it. "Madame Pomfrey wasn't there, it's closed for the evening, but Flitwick almost caught me because I wasn't paying enough attention-"

She was babbling, but Sirius couldn't manage to make his mouth work to tell her to stop.

The image he had kept with him, the fourteen year old with books in her arms and frizz in her hair, had _changed._

"You've… grown," he managed finally.

That stopped Hermione short. For a moment, he thought he saw her beam at him, but the expression (if it had even been there at all) was quickly replaced by horrified concern.

"Here," she said, shoving a vial at him. Then – "No, wait," she said as she snatched it back, "eat first, or you'll throw up."

She gestured at something near the door, and he realized belatedly that there was a hoard of floating packages following her in.

Numbly, he allowed himself to be led back around to the couch, then pushed back onto it. Meanwhile, Hermione made little concerned noises and sometimes sounds of incredulity as she looked him over for injuries.

He flinched when she came to his right arm, but she had apparently already known about the break. She gently lifted it, hissing in sympathy.

"Do you know the spell to set bones?" she asked him. "I knew it at one point, but I… I've forgotten…"

Sirius stared at her as though he were meeting her for the first time.

"Hermione?" he asked slowly.

She blinked. "Yes?" she asked.

He shook his head slowly – and then, he began to laugh. A full-hearted, incredulous laugh.

Hermione stood up straight at this, a hand on her hip. "Excuse me?" she said in an offended tone. "If we're going to laugh about my short-comings, perhaps I ought to wait to treat this."

He waved his other hand in acquiescence, but found it took him another half minute to stop laughing.

"I think I've missed you," he managed.

Hermione relaxed slowly.

"Yes," she said softly. "You know, I- I really missed you too. It's been too long."

And then, she said something else and his bone cracked into place.

His eyes widened and he tried to say something she probably wouldn't have approved of, but he found he had no breath.

Hermione put her hands to her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't – that is, I meant to do it quickly so you wouldn't have to worry-"

Sirius took a large breath and groaned. "Next time just _tell_ me."

He found he couldn't fault her, though, when she summoned a baked potato from the other side of the room and plopped the plate in his lap.

000000

As much as she wanted to, it was too hard to start asking questions while he ate. Words were puttering about in her mind: _Why did you go after Peter, how did you break your arm, why didn't you **write**-_

Though he was finished with his food, she pushed the questions away again and handed him the vial, which he took in one swallow.

_He needs sleep, first off,_ she thought. _Then I can ask him which side of the family gave him the stupid gene._

Not that he would understand what she meant, most likely. As for herself, she couldn't understand why she was crying. A quick glance his way showed her that there was no danger of his noticing, which was more than she could have hoped for.

His eyes were closed, but she could tell he was still slightly awake.

"Is Harry doing all right?" he asked drowsily.

Hermione swallowed, a strange feeling jabbing her in the stomach. She tried to keep her voice even as she said, "Yes. He's doing fine." _He worries me._

He smiled faintly, and it was strange to see how it smoothed away all of the accumulated worries on his face. "Good."

Her eyes drifted downward to the new cast on his arm, and she bit her bottom lip. It tasted like salt – the senseless tears still hadn't stopped.

"_You_ worry me," she sighed, continuing the unsaid thought. But if Sirius heard her slip-up, his only response was a deep, content breath that seemed to point toward sleep.

Hermione lengthened her robe and carefully wound it around him. The bone-mending potion was quick and painless, but as it drew on the body's own reserves, it took a lot of energy and it pulled down the immune system and if he happened to catch a _cold-_

Involuntarily, her hand went to his forehead to brush a wet lock of hair away from his eyes.

_Yes. That's the reason._

Feeling suddenly uncertain, she stood up quickly and somewhat unsteadily and fled.


	16. The Bug that Bites the Worst

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

Long chapter. Long, long, long. And a long time in coming.

Sorry, but the next one will be a while too. School is first, unfortunately.

**Edit:** Hey, guess what? Sixteen. _Sixteen._ The seventeen, alas, was not a shot at legal age, but the result of too much homework and too little sleep and me being horrible at math. Ta da! Magically fixed, and many thanks to Kou Shun'u.

**Chapter 15 – The Bug that Bites the Worst**

"I enjoy convalescence. It is the part that makes the illness worth while."  
**-George Bernard Shaw**

Sleep, as usual, came late and badly for Hermione. She was, in fact, beginning to suspect some kind of insomniac disorder – but that would naturally have to be dealt with later, once she was returned for the summer. Psychological problems were unsurprisingly best left to the muggle specialists; Saint Mungo's had such a handful with its magical maladies that the more common lack of sleep was almost laughable by comparison.

Of course, the bigger problem with sleep was that Hermione spent the entire night staring at her ceiling wondering why she had suddenly felt so incredibly unsure around Sirius Black. It wasn't as though she didn't know him well – or, as well as anyone might know him – as she'd spent an entire year plotting things in his company. And… it wasn't needful for her to worry about him. He was a grown man, as Lupin had said.

Yes, she remembered to herself, and they had both silently agreed that the idea of Sirius taking good care of himself was laughable.

So she was worried about him. That much was and had been true for a while.

But that didn't so much explain the little leap in her stomach when he'd recognized her age, as horrible as he'd been feeling. It didn't explain why she felt that strange urge to shake him every once in a while and tell him how _stupid_ he was.

Wait.

Hermione returned to the first thought.

_How old _was_ she?_

Her battered mind still calculated the answer fairly quickly. At thirty-six hour days instead of twenty-four for nine months out of the year (excluding weekends)…

She blinked tiredly. About one point five years times the constant, add in fourteen…

_Sixteen._

_I'm _sixteen

The answer shocked her so badly that she spasmed in surprise and nearly fell off of her bed.

_That can't be right!_ she thought. _That – that's one year before graduation! That would make me the same age as _George

Again, she went back through her calculations – and again, she came up with the same number.

"Oh… oh…" Hermione whispered, sitting on the edge of her bed and putting her face in her hands.

The cold metal and glass hourglass skimmed along her arm until it reached the end of its chain – it came up short, then, dangling outside her nightshirt.

_This thing…_

She slowly lifted her face from her hands; a finger ran along the chain, until her hand clasped about the glass.

_It's all this thing's fault. Everything._

Hermione stared at it in her hand, turned it over, examined it for flaws or chips. Something to tell her it wasn't _correct_, wasn't _right._

But nothing was different. Nothing about this stupid timeturner was different at all.

She lifted it up above the edge of her bed, playing with the idea of simply shattering it to pieces right then. Just to see if things would change, or if they would maybe go back to normal.

Her vision swam.

_Lifting above the ground, teeth gritted, eyes wide and watching, waiting for it to smash…_

She hissed in her breath and pulled it back from the edge – then realized belatedly that it was wound about her neck and wouldn't have even reached her knee.

_That's right,_ a part of her whispered. _You need it._

Hermione threw herself back under the covers and pulled them over her head, shivering.

000000

Morning came much too slowly, with an ache behind her eyes and a tremor in her body. And in her stomach, twisting-

Hermione sat up abruptly at the feeling and stumbled from her bed, a hand over her mouth. Parvati, already up, let out a small sound of surprise as her roommate bolted out the door to their room in her pajamas.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god-_

Ron was sitting downstairs with Harry, both half-awake. She ignored their half-hearted "g'morning"s and darted toward a trash bin in the corner.

A few moments later, her stomach muscles stopped holding in and her dinner came up.

_Ugh._

Harry and Ron realized on her third desperate heave that something was wrong. She heard hurried footsteps coming toward her, and the two stopped behind her, hesitating. Because of _course_ they wouldn't think of something useful to do. Like, for instance, holding back her hair.

She steadied herself with a hand on either side of the bin and groaned in misery. "I don't feel good."

Ron, being Ron, gave a nervous 'er'. "Obviously," he said.

"D'you… er… need anything?" Harry asked in what he must have thought to be a helpful tone.

"Oh just shove off!" Hermione managed, feeling unaccountably angry. "Next time one of you is sick I'll stand and watch too!"

Harry was silent a moment, while Ron let out a whistle. "Good thing being sick hasn't given you a temper, eh, Hermione?"

She held her response in check only barely.

"I'll get your homework for you, I suppose," Harry offered quickly, dragging Ron off by the arm. "I think I know most of your schedule."

He stepped out in a hurry, leaving an empty room and a despairing Hermione.

"I hate being sick," she managed, wiping at her mouth.

Although, to think of it… how long had it been since she'd been truly sick? Years, it seemed, excepting the occasional cold. She'd always thought of her immune system as excellent, considering she ate right, stayed on top of things, got enough sleep-

_Ah._

Well… well _darn._

The ache behind her eyes throbbed as though to emphasize the point.

Feeling all-around disgusting, Hermione staggered her way to the bathroom behind the stairs to wash her mouth out.

She had just splashed a bit of water over her face and stretched her hands out blindly to look for a towel when her hands came into contact with a warm body instead.

"You _could_ use my robes, I suppose," George said helpfully. "But then, I might be rather attached to my state of health at the moment, so it'd probably be impolite."

Hermione gritted her teeth.

"Ron was right," George noticed aloud. "You've got no sense of humor when you're sick."

"Are you quite done?" she demanded. "Because, as you've so astutely observed, I _am_ sick. And it would be a shame for me to throw up on you."

He looked annoyingly unperturbed. Hermione supposed it was because she wasn't the type to throw up on people, all threats aside. Except… maybe Malfoy. Yes, that would be amusing.

It was in the middle of this rather pleasant daydream that George said something rather unexpected.

"Want me to stay?"

Hermione's head snapped up, and she stared at him as though he'd grown another head. "Wh- _what_?"

George drew up his hands defensively. "You could've just said no."

"Well – no, I guess. Not that I don't appreciate it!" she hastened to add, seeing a strange change in his expression. "I just- I can get along on my own, I'm not handicapped. And I'd rather you not miss class."

George snorted. "Of course you can get on by yourself. It's not about _that_." Curiously, he shifted feet and dropped his eyes to the ground. "I just thought you might like a bit of company. It's no fun being sick by yourself, after all."

Hermione found herself temporarily speechless.

During this time, George handed her a towel to wipe her dripping face with – after a moment, she swiped it over her face and pondered.

A haggard smile made its way to her face despite her best efforts.

"You _are_ willing to wait on me hand and foot, yes?"

George didn't miss a beat. "I figure that'll entail all of fetching a book for you as you can't _eat_." His easy grin told her he was still joking.

Hermione pursed her lips and shuffled past him to the staircase. "I'll get into some cleaner things, then. And perhaps I have some stomach medicine about-"

"Why, you only had to ask," George said with a suspiciously innocent look.

000000

Pomfrey was not having a good day.

There was a first-year boy sitting in front of her with a wand stuck clear through his arm, crying at the top of his lungs. Behind him on the waiting bench were a fourth year Slytherin and sixth year Hufflepuff that looked as though they'd cast the entire first four years worth of spells at each other. And again, there was an idiot seventh year who'd tried to apparate within Hogwarts and splinched his finger off somewhere for the effort.

Didn't _anyone_ read Hogwarts: A History?

Pomfrey frowned, then shook her head. Hermione Granger must have come in recently.

She poked at the wailing first year boy sternly, commanding him to be silent. When that didn't work, she swiped her wand once, and the sound simply stopped coming. He blinked, surprised. Probably hadn't learned the spell yet.

"And if you don't stop moving about so much, we can remedy that too," Pomfrey told him acidly. "Sit _still!"_

The boy obediently stopped moving. A few moments later, the wand was free and the damage was being assessed. Bone damage, muscle damage, nerve damage – yet another one for the night.

Pomfrey was in the middle of trying to force the awkward boy into a bed when the most unwelcome sight she could have imagined today (or ever, really) popped up in her doorway.

"Dear Pomfrey!" Fred Weasley cried. "How _wonderful_ it is to see you on this fine morning." The tone was overly cheerful considering he looked rather pale and unhealthy.

Pomfrey felt a tiny shudder go through her as she turned her back to him to stuff the first year into bed.

"What do you want?" she asked suspiciously as she turned around, wand at the ready.

Fred opened his mouth as though to say something appropriately witty – but covered his mouth quickly and ran toward the nearby bathroom, spitting over a toilet.

Pomfrey slowly let her wand down and sighed, putting a hand to her forehead. A stomach bug. Lovely. Soon every student in the school would be laid up in her ward. And if Fred Weasley was the _first_, it certainly did not bode well for her state of mind.

After a moment, he came up and wiped at his mouth, then went to gurgle a bit of water. Pomfrey took another look at the three students on the bench. She decided tiredly that she ought to get rid of the immediate danger with red hair first.

"Let's have a look at you then," she said as he came out, looking even worse than before.

"Oh no," Fred said, rubbing at his forehead. "I just came for some anti-nausea potions, if you've got them."

"Potions?" Pomfrey said. "As in _more than one?_"

Good lord. If George Weasley was sick as well… for just a moment, she let herself feel sick as well.

Fred sighed dramatically. "Miss Granger is laying across the chairs of our commonroom, absolutely miserable. I _insisted_ upon getting her a potion to ease her body, as she refuses to come up here herself." He leaned in, as though telling a secret, and Pomfrey leaned back warily. Germs could spread so very easily, and if _she_ were out of commission, the school would descend into havoc. "You know," Fred said conspiratorially, "she's already starting on her homework for _next week._"

He straightened, then smiled again. "Perhaps _I_ ought to stay up here, though. I imagine I might get better more quickly under your _expert_ care."

Pomfrey nearly dropped the wand in her hand.

"No!" she said. Then, a little more controlled – "No, I don't believe that will be necessary, Mr. Weasley. You and Miss Granger merely have a small bug, it will pass on its own. In fact, perhaps you two should keep each other company in your commonroom. I will alert your teachers to your absence."

Fred beamed at her. "Why, you always have such marvelous ideas."

000000

George returned with two vials in hand, one quite empty already.

Hermione looked at him suspiciously as she downed part of her potion, saving a bit for later.

"You didn't tell me you were sick as well," she accused, feeling somehow cheated. It was one thing for him to offer to stay as a friend, but another to be staying because he was sick too.

George shrugged and fell quite wearily into the chair opposite her, still smiling despite it all. "Yes, well, it made you feel special, didn't it?"

Hermione felt her face begin to burn. "I- well– that's _completely_-"

He was eyeing her with such amusement that she finally found the ability to finish her sentence. "Nothing of the sort!" she managed.

George pulled on a folded blanket and swept it around himself. Then, with another amused look, he picked up another and stood from his seat. It dropped onto her stomach, and he raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Should I tuck you in, too?"

Hermione grabbed at the blanket faster than he could continue. She curled her legs underneath her as she pulled the blanket to her chin. "What are you doing, anyway?" she asked suspiciously.

George stepped back to rest a bit against his chair. "Why, I'm waiting on you hand and foot. Though of course, there are _two_ hands and _two_ feet involved." A thoughtful look came to his face. "Perhaps we ought to say 'hands and feet' instead."

Hermione waved her hand at him weakly. "Oh, sit down, George, you know I didn't mean it. I was joking with you."

He chuckled and slowly sank down into his chair, pulling it around toward the fire. "How on earth would I know that _you_, of all people, was making a joke?" he asked. "I thought you were serious all the time. Why, one might say you're improving through the influence of good company."

Hermione curled into her blanket, feeling a little hurt despite the fact that it seemed all in good fun.

She must have been silent for too long, because George looked over at her after a second.

"You all right?" he asked. "Did the potion not agree with you? It does that sometimes-"

"I'm fine," she said shortly, all the while thinking that she would later regret her tone. It wasn't George's fault that she was sick – far from it, in fact, he was keeping her company.

George rubbed at his face, looking somewhat confused. "Did I say something?"

The first thought she had was to put off the question somehow. But for some unknown reason – perhaps the light-headed feeling the potion was giving her, or the fact that she was feeling guilty for snapping at him – she felt the words come out anyway.

"I'd like to be funny," she said hesitantly. "But… it's not what I'm good at. I haven't got any illusions about where I fit into everything here, George."

His eyebrows knit. "And where is that?" he asked, sounding a little concerned.

Hermione leaned back into her pillow so he couldn't see her. "Well – well, I'm the bookworm. You know, the walking Encyclopedia Magic. Charming and witty aren't exactly in the job description. And… I guess I know I'm not ever going to be that way. I _need_ to be serious, it's just how I am."

George let out a slow breath. "I didn't really mean anything by it, you know."

She pushed back into her pillow a little more. "Yeah."

Her eyes were a little wet, but luckily, she was feeling tired enough to just go to sleep before anything could reveal her.

George wasn't done, though. He seemed to be trying to say something difficult, something slightly private, perhaps. "You know," he said, struggling with each pronounced word, "you've got plenty of people that _like_ you the way you are. I mean, not just for facts and books." He sat up a little straighter, at the edge of her vision. "There's a lot of people that would do just about anything for you. Harry and Ron and pretty much all the family…" He hesitated. "…me and Fred, too. We would."

Hermione felt a great desperately happy sob grow in her chest, but she swallowed it down.

"Do you remember at the Cup?" she said suddenly. "No, it was after. You said someone had to make sure we didn't get ourselves killed."

She knew he was frowning, somehow. Perhaps it was just a subtle change in the atmosphere.

"I remember you seemed offended or something, that was a long time ago, Hermione-"

"No," she said hurriedly. "I mean that… I guess I sort of feel that way about you too. All my friends at school. Sometimes, I feel like no one's really paying attention to everything that's happening outside. And sometimes, I feel like you really _shouldn't_, like maybe I should do it for you."

George shifted so that he could see her face again. Hermione found it somewhat discomforting.

"Nothing important's been in the news recently, Hermione," he said softly. "Unless there's something you know…"

"No," she said carefully. "It's just a feeling, then. Something's happened every year. This year doesn't seem like it's likely to be different, especially with all the unusual things going on. Unforgivables, the Tournament, the Ball…"

For the second time in only a little while, George looked about to say something important. Hermione closed her mouth, waiting expectantly.

In the end, though, he merely turned over to sprawl across the chair and close his eyes.

Hermione watched him for a while, the firelight on his face. It made him look very kind, somehow. She couldn't forget, though… he was smart. He was very, very smart. And every time he listened to her, he gained more information, and one of these days, he just might figure everything out.

She waited longer than she might have earlier, with this revelation – and when she was utterly certain he was asleep, Hermione got to her feet and crept toward the portrait.

Slowly, she pushed it open, just enough to let her through. Her heart was pounding at the thought of George waking and demanding some kind of explanation, though he wasn't really the kind of person to do that.

The portrait closed behind her without a noise, and Hermione began to walk as slowly and silently as her panic would allow. She rubbed at her arms, glancing about as she went, feeling horribly exposed as she walked the castle in her flannels. They weren't indecent, of course, but there was something about being seen in one's nightclothes that made one horribly embarrassed. Hermione hoped that everyone was in class. _Malfoy_ especially. Oh lord, if he had the chance to say something to her like this…

She came to the secret corner at this thought, thankfully, and Hermione felt so incredibly relieved that she immediately whispered the word and slipped through.

It had not occurred to her that _Sirius_ was going to see her like this.

The so-named man looked wearily up from the couch he was laying on – and immediately, his face took on the strangest expression she'd yet seen on it. It was as though a hammer were pounding on the inside of his lungs and he was trying to keep his mouth from opening to let the air out.

A choked kind of half laugh was his reward for all this effort.

Hermione gritted her teeth and immediately remembered all the reasons she was angry with him.

"_Sit,_" she hissed. "And you better have a good explanation for- for _everything!_"

Sirius didn't look serious enough for her. He was still coughing suspiciously.

_I will not let this turn into a discussion of my sleepwear, I will not let this turn into a discussion of my sleepwear – oh screw it, who am I kidding?_

Hermione clenched her hands into fists so tight, she was amazed her bones weren't creaking. "I'm sure you have worn worse than plaid," she managed in a barely controlled, quivering voice.

Sirius coughed again, but she could see that he was beginning to control himself again. "It was the pink," he said in a similar voice, though the emotion he was holding back was quite different. "I never imagined you'd lower yourself to it."

Hermione almost went for her wand before realizing she didn't have it. It hadn't occurred to her to move it from her robes to her pajama pocket.

Instead, she settled for throwing herself into the chair and glaring at him with such an intense look that he finally relented.

"I went after Pettigrew," he agreed with the unstated question, seeming much too light-hearted about the situation for her tastes considering he still sported a cast on his right arm and a fading bruise on his neck. Hermione didn't relent in her stare until he continued. "It was worth it if someone could stop him from reaching Voldemort," Sirius reasoned, leaning back into the couch cushions. "Besides which, I'm pretty well expendable at this point. I was the best person for the job."

Hermione felt her anger liquefy. It slid sickeningly down into her stomach, where it coalesced into pure dread.

"What… what was that?" she asked, choking.

Sirius sighed, as though he were dealing with a thirteen year old again. Perhaps he had forgotten, by his own words – she had _grown._

"If I'm ever found at this school," Sirius explained patiently, "Dumbledore will be forced out, whether they can prove he knew about it or not. I'm no good as a spy, no good as a ministry employee or even a teacher. I can still hunt down Peter, and that's what I'm doing."

Thoughts whirled around dizzyingly in Hermione head. _Doing?_ He was _still_ doing it? Had Dumbledore sanctioned this? Had he told him he was _expendable?_ She stood up furiously, opening her mouth.

"You-!"

It was as far as she got.

Instead of giving him a scathing and articulate verbal beating on why his being useless was patent nonsense and if he _ever_ went after Pettigrew alone again, she would personally tie him up and leave him in the room in the dark with _no firewhisky_ – she ran to the bin and threw up the food she hadn't known still existed.

She felt angry tears prick at her eyes as she coughed weakly into the bin. That was not how it was meant to come out. Sirius would never have listened to her before, he was _him_, but now it was even less likely than before and if he went out and died because he thought he was _useless…_

The angry tears finally turned into something more substantial. Hermione wondered miserably why all the most terrible things in life always decided to happen to her at once instead of nice and spread out like normal.

Just as her sniffling, stuttering mind began to come up with a bizarre theory about this involving time travel and karma, she felt a gentle tug on her scalp – her hair was lifted carefully away from her face, and she felt the monstrous ball of misery in her stomach slowly lessen.

"Sick?" Sirius asked from behind her, sounding surprised.

Hermione wanted very dearly to wipe her tears, say something sarcastic, and sob into him all at the same time. Unfortunately, she was rather busy doing the one thing she really didn't want to do.

When she was done, he sighed and handed her some water. Hermione gratefully swished it around in her mouth and spit it out, then drank down the rest. She wiped her mouth with her collar and sighed, feeling suddenly drained.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Sirius said finally, pulling them both back over to the couch, where she collapsed tiredly. "It's just the logic of it. Sitting here doing nothing… it made me think of it all. Honestly, can you think of anyone else with as little to lose?"

Hermione wondered momentarily when he'd made it his life's work to confound the people who cared about him. She turned her face into the pillow beside her and decided she was much too sick to try and work things out for him, but that she was going to do it anyway.

"What about the other people that care if you die?" she said quietly.

Sirius shrugged, laying across from her on the other side of the couch. "There's only three people who even think I'm innocent," he said.

"And Harry?" she said. "You want to leave him to that horrible family of his forever? Never even let him know he has a godfather?"

Sirius was silent for a moment. She knew he was thinking more rationally now. While he claimed to have thought it out, in reality he had been looking for a reason to go out heroically, and not feel guilty. She knew.

_"You selfish bastard," she cried, sobbing so hard her body heaved with every breath. "You _knew_!"_

_He smiled._

"That was a low blow," Sirius commented unhappily, unaware that Hermione had just hugged the pillow to her so hard that the stuffing had split a badly done seam.

And inwardly, she thought – _For Harry, he'll live - but for me, he just pretends._

It was a harrowing thought. A selfish compulsion took her to storm out of the room like a seven year old - but Hermione found that, though she dearly wanted to follow up on the impulse, she simply _could not move_. It was like waking from a horrible dream and failing to come back completely on the first try. At any moment, she was sure, she would jerk so suddenly she would fall from her place on the cushion.

"I got him," Sirius said abruptly, and the jerk did take her – Hermione gasped and felt the feeling reenter her limbs. She would have probably fallen just as she'd thought if Sirius hadn't snaked his arm out to stop her.

"I _got_ him, Hermione," he said, his eyes gleaming with the murderous vengeance he had been mistakenly imprisoned for.

She felt the breath catch in her throat. It was a horrible, vicious side of him she'd never seen before. For the first time since she had first been caught in the hall in her third year, she was afraid of Sirius Black.

He released her suddenly, and she scrambled back into her corner of the couch, trying not to be too obtrusive about her escape. His eyes were normal again, though. The edginess was still there, but the reason for it was gone. Fleeing would be wrong at this point.

Sirius rubbed at his face. "I mean to say…" he muttered. "I trapped him. He's only human now, he can't transform. I had to get close enough to him. It's how I broke the arm – an Auror was snooping in the area. Peter's antics made them think I was there in Albania."

_Albania_ Hermione thought suddenly, the terror in her mind breaking slightly. _Harry's vision, the paper…_

"So you… you figured it out, then?" Hermione managed finally, trying to re-establish the ease she'd held in his presence just moments before. Sirius looked at her strangely.

"Hermione…" he said quietly. "Look, you should probably go back to your common room. Rest up a bit, I'll be here a while."

But she had been thinking, and in thinking, she'd discovered that she didn't _want_ to go back. Even that horrible gleam in his eye, the relish with which he spoke of wanting to kill Peter… it was part of him. It was the part he had so carefully kept from her, the part he hadn't thought she could handle. She really would be a child if she left now, and he would never show her again.

"No," she said. "You need to understand something. Even without Harry, you're worth something. A _lot._ You shouldn't go putting a calculated worth on your life." Hermione swallowed and turned to face him, look him straight in the eye. "You might be pardoned. You might go off and start doing all the things you've ever wanted to do. You can't just throw all that away because you don't want to face up to the things that are coming."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she spoke first. "I've _seen_ it. You're not avoiding the work, you're avoiding the fear. You think you really don't care anymore, but you _do._ And – and I do _too._"

And _that_, she thought, was much too close to some other queasy, unnamed feeling inside her.

Sirius coughed, making the uncomfortable even more so. He rubbed at his forehead.

"That's not right," he muttered, though he sounded unconvincing.

Hermione said nothing, but wondered whether it had been the wrong thing to say.

Abruptly, he stood up and walked across the room, shuffling around through a small bag. He came out with a little package, but didn't comment on her curious expression until he had sat down again.

The small package was tossed to her unexpectedly, and Hermione, being herself, missed it by a yard. She sighed and pushed herself over the edge of the couch to snag it.

It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. Hermione held it for a moment, wondering whether he meant for her to open it.

Sirius seemed slightly embarrassed by it, in actuality. "I forgot to leave it with Crookshanks," he said, explaining his expression. "I should have sent it with the owl, I suppose, but I kept forgetting…"

It dawned on Hermione that this was probably a Christmas present.

She hesitated only a moment, snatching a look in his direction, before carefully pushing the thread from the paper and pulling it apart. Newspaper crackled a little, and she blinked as a glint of silver caught her eyes.

It was a somewhat large, tasteful ring, twisted from two pieces of metal. Knowing that it was probably expected, she tried it on her hand and found that it would only fit on her thumb.

"Ah," Sirius muttered. "I suppose I can find something else, then-"

"I like it," Hermione interrupted quickly, her face turning somewhat red. "It's not something I'd normally get."

His mouth twitched upward. "Probably not one like this," he said. It was phrased a little oddly, but when she looked at him for clarification, he shrugged. "You'd have gotten one that fit."

Hermione plucked at her pajamas a little, feeling suddenly uncertain. "I didn't get anything for you," she said. "I- well, you weren't there, and I was more than a little angry."

Sirius shrugged again, revealing that they were both a little uncomfortable with the situation. "It's fine," he told her. "It wasn't anything big, in any case."

Hermione privately disagreed and decided that she would spend a little more on a present for him this year. That was, assuming he didn't run off again before Christmas.

"You'll tell me if you plan to leave again?" she blurt out suddenly. "Next time?"

He shifted to lay his head back, and she knew he was still very tired. "If I can."

It was the best she would be able to get out of him.

Sighing, she stood and stretched, walking over to the door, then thought of her timeturner. It probably wasn't the best idea to use it now, of all times, but it was important that she get back before George awoke. Hermione pulled it from her shirt, thinking.

Sirius, across the room, sucked in his breath.

"So you do still have it," he accused.

Hermione pressed her lips together. "Yes," she said. "But it's not up for discussion."

Her mind made up, she turned it over once.

The room blurred.


	17. Unplanned Solution

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

School continues to be icky, but I finally pounded this one out. I hope it's well received. I must let you all know; my brain is utter mush. It's just not in any kind of condition to be keeping all the loose ends and questions together in my head, despite multiple lists for help there. However, I'm soon going to be on break and I'll hopefully have time to get out one (or two! God help me) more chapters.

**Tombadgerlock**: I should mention, actually, that Harry hasn't told either Ron _or_ Hermione about the egg this time around. Yet.

**Donahermurphy**: I'm so sorry to disappoint. George just isn't a punctual kind of person.

**Betty**: Yes… I have problems with liking George/Hermione too. Considering how horrible I am at sticking with pairings, it might yet go somewhere (Ah! No! I didn't just say that!)

**Chapter 16 – Unplanned Solution**

"Contrary to general belief, I do not believe that friends are necessarily the people you like best, they are merely the people who got there first."  
**-Peter Ustinov**

Hermione blinked awake from a sleep she hadn't know she was in.

She sat up quickly, panic blossoming in her stomach – then very quickly hit the floor again as her head spun, throbbing in pain. She tried again, slowly this time; the blood rushed to her face, and she wobbled on her knees.

She was outside the room, that much was clear… but it was hard to tell what time it was, since the corridor had no windows. Hermione lifted herself to her feet, frowning.

What had happened? She'd given the timeturner a flip- and then?

The memory didn't come. No matter how hard she tried to remember that usual feeling of mercurial vertigo… there was absolutely nothing there.

_A memory charm?_ she thought with foreboding.

But no; that was a different feeling altogether. A cloudy head, slippery sensations – instead, there was a total blank where her memory ought to have been.

What could _do_ that?

Hermione shook her head, trying to ignore the creeping fear that Sirius had been right.

000000

The commonroom was empty, and almost dark – the sky outside could have been black for minutes or hours, as far as she knew.

Hermione, in an unusual gesture of piety, prayed that she hadn't been out too long.

"I would love a watch," she murmured to herself, kicking off her shoes, "if it wouldn't be _utterly useless_ to me."

She sat down heavily in the chair by the fire, thinking of time turners and stupid _stupid_ Azkaban escapees. Curiously, the one that should have concerned her most was the one that ended up being shunted to the back of her head.

Instead, she found herself wondering on Sirius. When had he decided he wasn't worth as much as anyone else? Had it always been there, had she been too young to see it before? Or had something recent happened to shake his faith in himself?

Come to think of it… how much did she really _know_ about Sirius Black?

Hermione seized on this thought, amazed she hadn't addressed it properly before.

He had been friends with Harry's parents – with Lupin and Pettigrew, as well – but what about his family? Pureblood, he'd said, and not very good people.

Truly, that was where her knowledge of his history stopped. Because from there… there were thirteen years in Azkaban.

A shiver shot down her spine – the room suddenly seemed unbearably cold, despite the fire, and Hermione pulled her legs up to her chest to offset it.

What could she possibly understand of Azkaban? She'd only ever felt the full presence of a dementor once – to compare it to thirteen years, guilty without trial, alone in the dark with only madness and vengeance for comfort; there _was_ no comparison.

She stared into the flames, their flickering casting shadows, like twisting creatures, on the floor in front of her. Azkaban…

Somehow, she felt she could put together a picture of the place, despite the fact she'd never been there. Perhaps the simple concept was enough. Or perhaps… perhaps she really had been there. What was it Sirius had first said to her?

_"Yes, perhaps- a little taller, fuller – and no one that's been to Azkaban could look so _young_…"_

Had he truly seen her? A shade of the person Hermione would become, an older woman with the shadows of guilt and loss in her eyes…

A knot grew in her throat. She had seen that Hermione. Or, at the very least, the one she feared to be.

_"They're going to die, and it's all your fault! If you had tried harder – no, you haven't tried yet, but you won't- they'd be alive, don't you _understand_-__"_

A boggart. But what if it were somehow _true?_

Hermione clutched the timeturner tightly in her hand, pressing her teeth together involuntarily – her eyes had forgotten to blink as they stared into the fire, and now they were tearing.

"What if I just can't succeed?" she whispered, trembling.

The shadows in front of her surged suddenly – and a hand landed on top of her head.

Hermione jumped, her breath loose in her throat. The very shade of her failure was standing behind her, staring blankly, accusingly.

"Hermione, do you want your homework?"

She coughed, then took a deep breath. Harry was looking at her with confusion, not accusation. He was outfitted in Quidditch gear – he'd probably just gotten back from practice.

"Harry," she said in a voice slightly higher than normal. "What if everything's just going to _happen._ I mean, what if we can't _do_ anything about it?" She swallowed. "You don't think that's true, do you?"

If he had been confused before, he was certainly more so now.

"Have you been reading a bunch of depressing novels again?" he asked suspiciously, setting down a sheet of parchment with little numbered items on it.

"Maybe," Hermione said, laughing suddenly at herself and deflating a little.

"Anyway," Harry shrugged, "I still think it doesn't _matter._ If it's true, it's true and there's nothing you can do about it. If it's not, it's not."

A typically Harry opinion.

"Besides, it's not like we have the opportunity to find out," he chuckled. "Divination's a load of bunk, we all know that."

Except when it wasn't.

Hermione didn't even want to bring up her own brush with true predictions. It was hard enough to think that Divination held even a little utility, unfocused as it was.

"Anyway," Harry continued cheerfully, "I screwed up today's deflation charm pretty badly, so I was going to ask if you could help me a bit. Flitwick told me to practice for homework."

Hermione's eyebrow rose. "That's pretty bad, he almost never assigns extra practice… what did you do?"

Harry grinned sheepishly. "I popped the balloon. Wouldn't be so much of a problem, but I think he's going to be using animals for the final…"

Hermione shuddered at the thought. "Of course I'll help you, Harry. Nothing like a good cause…"

"I figured you'd say that."

000000

Hermione discovered, of course, that Harry had only managed half her classes, for all that he'd thought he'd got them all. Her teachers were all quite understanding – she was only glad that Harry knew about Potions. She was willing to bet that Snape would have put a big fat red mark on anything she turned in late.

Within the week, things settled back to normal. Hermione began to find her way back on top of the precarious pile of homework she had committed to, Harry successfully deflated a balloon without popping it, and things suddenly seemed much more satisfactory in general.

Worries, of course, quickly intruded on this sense of well being.

Her first was a concern with George. Since her disappearance from the commonroom, he hadn't said anything about it, though she'd talked to him in the halls. An optimistic person might have believed he had simply thought her in the library. Hermione was not an optimistic person.

Her second problem was an eventual need to talk to Sirius once more. Things seemed to have become a bit strained since he had returned. A by-product of his idiotic behavior, naturally.

Or… though she didn't want to think of the possibility, it was a valid one – Hermione had grown by a year since seeing him last. Sirius hadn't really changed all that much… but it was easy to assume that she had changed quite a bit. It was, she reluctantly considered, a possible part of the sudden uncomfortable air between them.

Just as Hermione began to plan out her approach to these particular problems, another one hit quite unexpectedly.

The Yule Ball.

The whole thing came to her attention in a very strange way, actually. Hermione would never have imagined, for example, that she would be asked to the Yule Ball in the _library._ Or, well, at all.

She happened to be quite busy trying to find some more _positive_ theories on time travel when a low cough made her look up in surprise; Hermione had to keep herself from suspiciously covering the pages of her book by reflex.

Of course, the true surprise was the person standing in front of her.

"I could not help but notice," Viktor Krum said uncomfortably, "you are in here very often."

Hermione blinked, setting a bookmark between the pages of the book and moving it unobtrusively behind another stack of less specific volumes. "The library has a lot of resources for doing homework, I'm told," she said with a slightly sour tone. She hadn't quite forgotten Durmstrang's departure from the Gryffindor table.

Krum winced a little, and she felt slightly guilty for her tone. Perhaps it was a little harsh to judge him based on the entire school's actions.

"What are you here for?" she asked more politely. At this, Krum held up a slim novel – a muggle classic, from the small section dedicated to such things.

She felt her eyebrows raise despite herself. He was holding a copy of _The Trial._ Far be it for her to comment, but she'd been under the impression that it was an incredibly depressing story…

The side of her mouth quirked. "I usually read lighter than that, but to each their own."

Krum looked down at the book as though he'd never seen it before. He was acting strangely stilted; not surprising considering they'd talked for a grand total of perhaps an hour the entire school year.

"And vat vould you recommend?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

Hermione chewed at the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. She didn't actually know very much about Krum, so it would be rather presumptuous to recommend a book… but of course, she would.

"The Count of Monte Cristo?" she said uncertainly. "They don't have it in the library, but I remember the Muggle Studies teacher had it on her shelf. I'm sure she'd let you borrow it."

"I vill ask her – thank you." He hesitated, as though unwilling to leave just yet. Hermione felt a little irritation rise in her – she still had quite a bit of homework to do, and he was only really prolonging an uncomfortable silence.

"If you vould not mind," Krum said suddenly. "I vas vondering-" He cut off, looking very lost indeed.

"Yes?" Hermione said slowly, trying to be encouraging instead of impatient.

"Do you haff an escort for the Ball?" he said.

Hermione had thought it an awkward silence before. But no – _this_ was awkward silence.

"Are you… are you asking me to the ball?" she said disbelievingly.

Krum coughed again, moving a hand to scratch at his head – then deciding against it at the last minute and moving it to his pocket. "I understand if you are going vith someone, it is fine-"

Hermione regained her sense just in time. "Oh – oh no, no I'm not. It just took me by surprise is all, I'm sorry."

Another uncomfortable silence followed. Belatedly, Hermione realized she was supposed to answer.

"Um… why?"

She inwardly winced. It probably hadn't been an incredibly diplomatic way of putting things.

Krum, though, looked almost relieved. "The champions must haff partners to dance vith," he said, "and I did not vant to ask someone from Slytherin. You seem very – ah – sensible. I do not know the word…" His face turned troubled.

Though she felt a little peeved at being considered only because she was _not_ a Slytherin, Hermione could understand the sentiment. And, as it was highly unlikely that she would be asked again…

"I have no other plans," she said. "And it does sound like you're in a bit of a jam. I'll go with you, then."

His face melted with relief. "That is very nice of you, Hermy-own."

Hermione ignored the mangled name – but as he bowed nervously and left the library, it began to dawn on her that she was going to have to dress up after all.

"Oh _bother._"

The rest of the reading on timelines did not get done.

000000

The surprises weren't over with for the week, either.

She was sitting in the common room with Ron, attempting to beat him at Wizards' Chess so he would open his Charms book, when his king toppled over and rolled off the board very mysteriously.

Ron, looking highly irritated and not at all amused, glared at someone over her shoulder. "Ha ha. Very funny."

A hand offered back up the rogue piece from behind her. "It ought to be a new move in chess," George said, sounding amused. "Trip the king when he's not looking."

The king itself muttered something nasty in a squeaky voice as Ron replaced it on the board. "At least it's better than Fred's old Armageddon move," Ron said, scowling. Hermione let out a small laugh, trying to imagine Fred and George playing Ron at chess. He'd probably gotten all his practice off of either Charlie or Percy.

"Well, now that the game's finished (_is not!_ Ron protested) we've got to ask ourselves an important question, my dear brother," George said.

"What's that?" Ron asked suspiciously, trying to move his Charms book somewhere Hermione would forget about it.

"Got a date for the Yule Ball yet?" George asked. He did so in a tone that clearly stated he didn't believe his younger brother capable of such a thing.

Ron frowned. "Not yet, no. I've got someone in mind, though."

Hermione blinked. This was certainly news to her.

"What, you mean the French beauty queen?" George snorted. "My chess moves will get sanctioned before she goes anywhere on a date with you."

Ron turned red, and Hermione knew George had hit the mark. "That's not necessary, George," Hermione said with a frown.

"I'm protecting my little brother from cruel, cruel rejection," he replied blithely. Then- "How about you, Hermione? Found yourself a special friend?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course I haven't, George-" she stopped abruptly. "I… actually, yes."

Though she couldn't see George behind her, she was under the impression that he and Ron had both blinked simultaneously.

"Oh come _on_, Hermione," Ron said a moment later, looking amused. "You don't have to lie to look good _here_ – neither of us has dates yet either."

Hermione's frown deepened. "Excuse me," she said, "but I'm telling the truth. I really do have a date."

Ron sighed, poking at a bishop to get it moving. "_Hermione_," he said. "The ball is a ways off. I'm telling you, you don't have to pretend-"

She stood up sharply, her knees hitting the table; the pieces fell to their sides, a few of them scattering from the table. Her face had turned a little pink.

"I'm telling the truth," she said again, trembling with indignation.

George whistled from behind her. "Armageddon," he said, sounding impressed.

Hermione turned around angrily. "You believe me, don't you George?"

He was busy staring at the chess board, and didn't meet her eyes. "Sure, Hermione. Who is it?"

She swallowed, hesitant. "Um…" Good lord. They really wouldn't believe her if she said _Viktor Krum._ _She_ didn't believe it herself.

"See?" Ron said triumphantly. "I knew it."

Hermione turned around to fix him with an icy look. "I was just thinking of whether I ought to tell you or not. I suppose I won't, now."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, all right, Hermione. Tell the Minister of Magic I send my regards."

Hermione felt her face bunch up into a disgusted look. "Ron… ugh."

"Yeah, Fudge isn't really a looker, is he?" agreed George, sounding a little more upbeat. "If your mystery date suddenly cuts out, I suppose I might pick you up, hey Hermione?" he added, clearly also not believing her now.

Hermione blinked. Ron fumbled with the pawn he was carefully resetting.

Had… had George just asked her to the Ball as well?

No. He must have been joking.

She went back to feeling indignant.

"Look, I _have_ a date-" she started.

"And I'm sure he's perfectly good looking and charming and all," George said, "but should he disappear just before the Ball for some reason, I'll pick you up sixish?"

Hermione clenched her fists. "Would you quit joking like that?" she demanded. "Why is it so hard for you two to believe I might have been asked to the Ball before you?"

"Because you're always in the library?" Ron suggested, having completely reset his board now. The Charms book had disappeared without a trace.

"Because I can't think of anyone in particular that might ask you?" George said honestly, fiddling with the king he'd somehow picked up again.

Hermione felt her mouth drop open. "I don't _believe_ you!" she said, her voice raising a few semi-tones into the screech-worthy area.

She picked up her bag next to the table and threw it over her shoulder angrily, moving to storm off toward the staircase.

"What?" George said, sounding confused. "I only meant I haven't heard-"

"Oh shut up!" Hermione called back. She slammed the door to the dormitory behind her.

Parvati looked up at her in surprise from the bed, where she'd been doodling on her homework. "Er - something interesting happen that I missed?" she asked cautiously.

Hermione threw her bag to her own bed, judiciously ignoring the way the mattress suddenly sagged in the middle from their weight. "Ron and George don't think I have a date to the Yule Ball!" she said, throwing herself after them.

Parvati paused, her pen hovering over the paper. "…do you?" she asked, sounding interested.

Hermione glared at her. "Why is it so hard to believe-" she began, but Parvati held up her hands in surrender.

"I didn't know," she said, "honestly. Who is it?"

Hermione stared at the top of her canopy, simmering.

"Hermione?" Parvati asked.

"Oh all right," Hermione said testily. "Krum."

There was a pause.

"_Really?_" Parvati asked, sounding amazed. "Wow, I thought he was going to go with someone from Durmstrang."

"Apparently not," Hermione said coolly, trying to ignore the excess of amazement. "Look, don't tell anyone, all right? I probably shouldn't have told you either."

Parvati's quill began to scratch on the parchment again. "Lips sealed, cross my heart, hope to die, yadda yadda yadda. But really, good for you Hermione." She only paused once more, thoughtful. "Although…"

Hermione steeled herself for the inevitable disparaging comparison – perhaps to Fleur, or Cho Chang, or Parvati's twin.

"I thought someone else was going to ask you," Parvati admitted.

_This_ was not what Hermione had been expecting.

"What?" she said, all anger fled for the moment.

Despite her irritation at other peoples' assessment of her love life, Hermione herself had thought it incredibly unlikely that she would get asked to the Ball by anyone other than Neville Longbottom.

"I can't say anything else," Parvati said. "If you haven't figured it out, it's better just to let it lie."

"But _Parvati!_" Hermione protested. "I told you about Krum, didn't I?"

Parvati looked at her meaningfully. "Yes. And I promised I wouldn't tell about it. I didn't make a promise on this one, but it would really be mean to say since you're already going to the Ball."

Hermione sighed. "I suppose I understand that. But it's going to _bother_ me, now."

Parvati began to hum to herself. "Tough luck," she said with a smile.


	18. Contention

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

Yes indeed. It's been a while, though not as bad as I might have thought. This chapter is slightly short, I think, but probably better than nothing.

Now, I may have questions very, very soon. These questions will include things such as "Why the hell did Hermione say something like that" or "Why is Sirius being such a jerk?" or "Why aren't they madly snogging yet?".

As to the last one, I'm afraid I won't be obliging you for a very long time (yes, that's confirmation, you may take it as such). However, the first two… I have often held that a good story has human characters. And, as you may have noticed, humans get angry over irrational things, take a point of view they know to be wrong, and in general make very large mistakes (especially in the form of impassioned arguments). Also – hormones. :P

**Minstrel91:** Firstly, Krum was very interested in taking Hermione to the Ball for her own sake – this will get revealed soon enough. Also: Parvati was talking about George, naturally. She would have gotten it through Katie, through Ginny, through Lee, through Fred, or whatever particular chain you may be thinking of.

**Rheniel** This is a SB/HG, and is listed as such – but GW/HG will be playing a huge, amazing part in the whole thing. You shall see.

**Wevvles** Thank you very much! I was very happy about just about everything you said, but most especially about the "I don't expect you to answer that" part. Because you were quite right in that I cannot answer that particular question. :)

**LANGUAGE WARNING:** For those who care, this chapter contains a few ve-ery choice words. You have been warned.

**Chapter 17 – Contention**

"We rarely think people have good sense unless they agree with us."  
**-Francois de La Rochefoucauld**

If Hermione had been expecting sympathy from Sirius, she certainly didn't get it.

"I hate boys," she said shortly as she pushed into the room. "Or – men. Or whatever they're calling themselves these days."

Sirius blinked and sat up from where he'd been dozing on the couch. "You do realize you're speaking to one of the breed?" he asked, sounding amused.

She gave a little harrumph, and dropped her bag in front of the fire. "Maybe you can enlighten me on the complexities of the male mind, then."

Sirius coughed suddenly, as though she'd said something funny. His mouth reformed the word – '_complex'?_ – but he quickly settled himself back on the couch again. "And what is it that Ron, the Weasley twins, Harry, et al, have done _this_ time?"

Hermione frowned at him. "You're not at all helping, talking like that, you know."

He shrugged. "I only put it in order of the usual," he explained, a rather unapologetic smile threatening to break out on his face.

She sniffed and pulled her books out. "If you're going to be like that, then I'll just start on my Transfiguration. Merlin knows I'm going to have to be ahead on my winter homework if I'm going to the Ball."

Magic words.

Sirius sat up abruptly, the twitching corners of his mouth now still. "Ball?" he said quickly. "So one of them asked you?"

Hermione yawned, nibbling on her quill. Sirius was quite the old woman when it came to gossip – it came from being shut away so much of the time, she figured. Or, perhaps he'd just always been like that. "But it's just another of our little teen scuffles, Sirius. I'm _sure_ you're not interested."

She fought back a grin.

"Why – my _dear_ Hermione-" he said, looking overly pained. "I _always_ care about your problems. I am the very _soul_ of caring. I care like a saint, like a _martyr-_"

"Oh, all right already," she said, dropping the quill (having done no work anyway) and turning back around to look at him. "Are you quite done?"

He spread his hands. "I could go on, if you like."

Hermione decided quickly that she didn't want to explore the full extent of Sirius Black's vocabulary for another fifteen minutes. "Krum," she said. "Viktor Krum, the Durmstrang champion." And then, not quite knowing why she suddenly cared that he know it, she said: "You know, the Quidditch Seeker. We saw him at the World Cup."

The change in Sirius' face was almost frighteningly sudden – it went from perfectly open and familiar to very closed off and cloudy.

"You told him no, though, didn't you?" he said slowly. "Is that you were fighting with Ron?"

Hermione's brow knit. "No, I was fighting with Ron and George because they didn't believe I had a date. Jerks," she added, still feeling slighted by the entire episode.

Sirius' eyes focused more keenly on her, and for the first time since saying yes, Hermione began to wonder whether she had somehow made a mistake.

"That," Sirius said in a low voice, "was a very stupid thing to do, Hermione."

She gaped at him. "How so?" she demanded, suddenly defensive. "He's perfectly nice, and it's not like I've anyone _else_ to go with-"

"Have you lost your _mind?_" Sirius said incredulously, leaping to his feet. "He's from _Durmstrang!_ I don't know how their reputation holds up today, but in my day they ate Muggleborns for breakfast, brunch, tea time, and dinner!"

Hermione stumbled to her feet, feeling the need to be closer to his towering height. "Durmstrang is an upstanding European school!" she said. "And for your information, the continental countries passed a Pan-European Muggle Protection Agreement ten years ago!"

"Oh, I'm sure," he sneered. "Bet they even framed it with a little ribbon. They still don't let Muggleborns into Durmstrang, do they?" He was probably unaware of the truth of this statement, but Hermione had to admit, in some far corner of her mind, that it was a fairly safe assumption to make.

For the moment, however, she stood on her tiptoes to stare him in the eyes. "So you want me to go demand he get his school's policy changed?" she asked in a louder voice. "What more do you want him to do, he picked me over the Slytherin girls!"

"Oh wonderful for you!" Sirius yelled, not even pretending toward civility anymore. "Picked over the Slytherin purebloods, must be your proudest moment, Hermione!"

Hermione's mouth fell open in astonished fury; in the next instant, Sirius was reeling back onto the couch, having been violently pushed there by two solid hands on his chest.

"So sit here by yourself for all I care!" she yelled back, face undoubtedly red, with tears stinging at her eyes.

He looked gratifyingly shocked at her behavior – enough so that his mouth delayed its inevitable opening while she fumbled for her timeturner. If Hermione had been Harry or Ron, she would have spit a last epithet at him as she jerked the thing end over end. Luckily, she was not.

Sirius returned to his senses belatedly. But instead of attempting to get in the last word, his face turned almost nauseatingly funny, and he did something quite unexpected – he lunged forward to grab at the chain of the timeturner.

Hermione wondered what he meant by this until she felt herself come apart.

000000

She came back to herself somewhat after what must have been a split-second _nothing_. But in the infinite moment that followed, Hermione saw a thousand things swirl around her – colors, images, incomprehensible people and gibberish and _possibilities_, tossed about within showers of glittering sand.

Her fingers sifted gently through a pool, as she watched, unable to close her eyes…

_"-can't accept that! He has to-"_

…and out again. Her hand came back to her, and her frame of reference shifted back to normal, so that the world became even more dizzyingly fast.

Her eyes squeezed shut, all at once.

"Hermione!"

The sand was trickling onto her forehead.

_"Who was it?"_ George's voice whispered, hoarse. _"Hermione, _tell me!"

She opened her eyes.

Black hair, grey eyes; a worried turn to the mouth.

_Not_ George.

"What the hell happened?" Sirius asked her. "Are you all right?"

Hermione groaned, her head suddenly throbbing in tune with his voice. "No. Oh – ouch."

She realized belatedly that she was spread across the couch, a pillow under her head. Water had been carefully dripped onto her face – she felt it dribble off as she attempted to rise.

Sirius pushed her back down, frowning. "No," he said. "Don't. I need you to stay here for a while."

Hermione frowned, remembering his last words to her. Why on earth should she listen to _anything_ he had to say from here on out?

It had undoubtedly been meant to be an ironic statement, considering the more amazing triumphs Sirius had been told of. But at the time, his words had hit much too close to home – that was indeed the reason Viktor Krum had given for asking her to the Ball. And though it was possibly the most demeaning reason she'd ever heard for being asked to a dance, Hermione _had_ thrilled in it at the time, guiltily. Being forever compared to those purer than she was very tiring. Having to prove herself over and over, never quite being accepted for herself… she couldn't count the number of times she'd stared at the ceiling of her bed, thinking how simply _unfair_ it all was.

And being picked, for once, over the rest – by a dark, famous, widely-desired person – had made her feel more gratified than any of the house points she'd received for propping Harry up in his hardest hours. For the simple reason that it had been _her._

No, Sirius had been horribly, sickeningly right. And she hated him for it.

"I'm going for some water," she said coldly, pushing herself to her feet and ignoring the sudden pound of blood in her head.

"Right here," he pre-empted her, setting a glass in her hand. His own eyes were hard – it seemed neither had forgotten the preceding conversation.

Hermione set the glass down slowly, refusing to look away from him. "Different water, then," she said, feeling openly petulant, for once. Sirius was not her keeper. Things were very much the opposite, in point of fact.

"Hermione," he said warningly – but she had had enough of people looking down on her in the past few days, and instead of staying to listen to him, she walked briskly toward the door.

She slowed, though, just for a moment, at a strange _lack_ around her neck.

Hermione turned around to glare at him. "I need my timeturner," she informed him. "I'm going to have classes again, after break."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Don't be an idiot. I'm taking it back to Dumbledore. He'll get your classes reduced, I'm sure."

And that, as they said in the proverbs, was the last straw.

"_Accio_ timeturner!" Hermione snapped loudly.

It flew directly to her hand, the cool glass flush against her palm. Without giving him another chance at protest, she stepped straight out the door and started off for the commonroom.

000000

Sirius Black was not a patient man. He was not an understanding man, usually, either. He understood these faults in himself, but hadn't ever bothered to correct them. More important things had always seemed to be going on in his life.

Hermione Granger, though, was usually quite patient, quite understanding, and quite _intelligent_. Therefore, he found himself both confused and infuriated by her sudden lack of all three traits.

Viktor Krum had never shown the slightest interest in her, so far as he knew. Granted, it wasn't much – but he was somehow certain that he just _would_ know, if that were the case. No, his sudden request was more than just suspect. Added to the fact that he was not only from Durmstrang, but Durmstrang's _champion_, it made the entire thing much too neat to be real.

And he was amazed that Hermione couldn't have seen that immediately. How on _earth_ could she have blindly accepted such an offer?

Perhaps he had been harsh, but damnit, that was his usual prerogative. Where was _her_ excuse?

He clenched his hand as he stared at the empty doorway where she'd disappeared, timeturner wound into her hand.

And that – that _thing._ He had seen it happen. He could have sworn, just for a second, that Hermione had – well, he wasn't sure what she had done. Only that, instead of flashing away as she usually did, she had _lingered_ for that sickening length of time, her face frozen between fury and sudden panic.

All other problems had fled his mind at the time. Instead of giving her a biting phrase to think on for the rest of the night, he'd lunged to grab at the hand with the timeturner, instinctively flipping it back around the other way before more sand could fall.

She hadn't even reacted to his touch. Just… folded. Like a paper doll.

Déjà vu, all over again. He'd been near-paralyzed at the sight of her, laying bone-white and limp in his arms. That had been done, and done badly. He still cursed himself regularly for his late arrival in her third year, and now he was cursing himself for standing like an idiot that bare extra moment. It was unforgivable. Inexcusable, to make the same mistake twice.

So somehow, in between his anger at her, his hatred of that tiny golden hourglass, and his anger at himself, he managed to deposit her on the couch and pull the offending object off her.

An immediate improvement in her color made him only more determined to take the thrice-damned thing back to Dumbledore, privacy or no. But he'd stayed to make sure she was all right, to make sure she _would_ wake up this time, and it had led to his standing here in a doorway, empty handed.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._

Sirius slammed his open hand against the wall beside the door and gritted his teeth against the pain.

He had been planning on leaving, as soon as he saw her again, made certain she was coping.

Those plans had abruptly disappeared.

A swish of light material and the crumple of paper, and the room was once more empty.

000000

Thankfully, neither Parvati nor Lavender had been in the room to witness her very undignified entrance. Hermione, stumbling, crying, angry, had hit the bed hard and slid to the floor in a little childish heap.

For what must have been the hundred thousandth time in her life, the words _not fair_ flashed through her mind.

It wasn't fair that he treat her like that, or that he yell at her, or that she yell back, or that she lose her self-control so utterly. It wasn't fair that he be right.

Slowly, she clambered onto the bed to thrust her head into her pillow.

Her face brushed metal, clamped in her hand, and she pushed herself back up with effort.

"I hate you," she whispered to the timeturner.

And though it had shown itself capable of many, many other things, it did not respond.

Wiping the tears from her face, she pulled the chain over her head with a shudder. The tiny weight about her neck was like a grotesque piece fitting smugly into place. She couldn't get rid of it. Not until she _knew_, until she learned how to stop these horrible things from happening.

More emotional than she could ever remember feeling before, Hermione buried her head in her pillow again and tried to will her hiccups to stop. Unfortunately, everything simply stopped all at once, and before she knew it, she was waking up and it was dark and she had _forgotten her bag._

With a cry somewhere between dismay and humiliation, Hermione leapt off the bed to unsteady feet, stumbling across the uneven stones and out the door. Down in the commonroom, torches flickered quietly on a soft murmur of voices. She stole down as unobtrusively as possible, wondering as she did so how on earth she was going to face up to Sirius again to ask for her homework.

"Hermione?"

The voice was not entirely unexpected. At this point, anything that could happen to her at all was bound to.

She turned around, knowing she looked horrible. "Yes?" she asked.

Ron looked at her with such utter remorse that she felt her stomach plummet even further. "Look, I know we must've said something bad. I'm sorry, Hermione."

Despite the sudden urge to throw her arms around him and confess everything, Hermione merely shook her head and laughed a little. "I'm not upset about it anymore," she told him. "Don't worry, you're off the hook."

He shifted uncomfortably, his ears a little red. "Well… that's not all it. You're not looking good again, Hermione."

She swallowed. "I'll get through it. I have one nervous breakdown a year, you know it."

Ron, though, being Ron, patted her awkwardly on the back. "I bet it didn't help, though. So – sorry." He scratched at his head. "And, um, you left your bag down here. George found it."

Hermione froze.

"I… I did?" she asked, not daring to believe anything of the sort. Had she really? She'd gone there with the express intent of talking to Sirius, making amends (ha!), and it was entirely possible that she'd gone and forgotten…

No. She had definitely taken it with her. There had been talk of Transfiguration.

George, sitting in the corner, raised his eyebrows substantively as she approached.

"You all right?" he asked, looking uncharacteristically concerned.

Hermione shook her head in a very definite 'no'. "You found my bag?" she asked tiredly. "Has it got all the books?"

George stared at her a moment – then laughed disbelievingly. "Looking like that, you ask about your bloody homework…" he muttered, sounding only halfway amused. He offered up the bag, though, and Hermione took it wordlessly, taking the stairs slowly back up to the dormitory.

Everything was there. So in a very Hermione fashion, she restarted her winter homework – and fell asleep on top of page three hundred sixty.


	19. Half a Secret

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

A note: this wasn't originally going to be in here, as I tend to shy from writing too much Sirius POV in a Hermione-centric fic, but as Donahermurphy so kindly asked _and_ everyone's been waiting so damn long, I figured I'd add it in. Forgive me for any triteness, as I hurried this one together for an in-between after writing 19. The two are going up together, and 19 seemed more important.

**Chapter 18 – Half a Secret**

"The secret of life is to appreciate the pleasure of being terribly, terribly deceived."  
**-Oscar Wilde**

Sirius did not sit down in one of Dumbledore's overstuffed chairs. Neither did he partake of his lemon drops, or watch the paintings as they went about their various daily routines. Instead, he paced with a nervous, furious energy, unable to stand the thought of sitting and waiting like a good dog.

"You never listen," came Phineas Nigellus' voice from above the Headmaster's chair. "I told you to get back underneath that cloak. You're not the only one privileged with the password in, you know."

Sirius spat something at him that made a few of the other paintings wince, and one of the more conscientious ladies cover her ears.

"Well," Nigellus said, sounding more distasteful than genuinely affected. "I begin to wonder what exactly you learned at that Potter fellow's house. Obviously, someone over there spoiled your vocabulary."

This did worse than nothing to curtail his anger – in fact, Sirius could feel it rising to horrible levels, and only the thought that Dumbledore would never listen to him again if he destroyed Nigellus stayed his shaking wand hand.

"I learned more there than your descendants could ever have taught me," Sirius said instead, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage.

"They could have taught you plenty, if you'd bothered to learn," Nigellus said with strangely glittering eyes. "You just refused to see anything past your little mud caked view-"

"_Silencio!"_

The voice was not Dumbledore's, but it was one almost as unsettling.

The painting glared over Sirius' shoulder, its mouth stopped moving after it realized the futility of trying to speak. The quiet in the room dragged on, stifling and still. Sirius continued to stare at the painting, unwilling to turn around.

"The paintings are only bound to give good advice to Dumbledore," came Lupin's sad and weary voice. "Don't listen to him, Sirius. He's only trying to provoke you into something stupid."

Sirius felt his clenched fists tremble. "I don't recall asking for _your_ advice either, _Moony_." He spat the nickname out, not much liking its taste anymore.

Another tired silence took the place of the first, but Lupin did eventually speak again. "I deserve that," he said. "Every word and more. I cannot recall a more wretched time in my life than when Dumbledore told me the truth. Not even after James…"

He trailed off, into the paths of memory Sirius had traveled uncountable times. The flash of a sickly green, floating mark above a beloved house. The frozen faces of people not meant to lie in death.

"I don't really care how you felt about it," Sirius lied, his deepest instincts begging him to go and embrace his old friend and find at least one trustworthy companion still alive and whole. "My most wretched times don't begin to compare to a little guilt trip. How long, Moony? Tell me again."

"Twelve years," he obliged quietly.

"And how many visits, Moony?" It was unfair. He was being unfair _again_, and he hated himself for it, and he couldn't stop.

"None." The answer was given in a whisper, and he knew that whatever crazy aim he'd had with this conversation, it had been accomplished. Lupin had already flayed himself alive uncountable times for his mistake. It was wrong of Sirius to continue to persecute him for something with such logical reasons behind it.

He turned around, feeling confused and _wrong_, and there were tears in his eyes, too, from something he'd thought long-buried. "Remus," he managed. "I-"

Lupin looked old. He looked tired and old, and though he'd always looked older than himself, he'd never been meant for this perfectly weary and patched persona. And Sirius remembered belatedly that he had promised himself many years ago that he would always _always_ protect his friends, and never let them be hurt.

He'd thoroughly broken that promise now. Slashed it to tiny bits and pieces.

Lupin moved forward, though, and pulled him in for a hard hug. Sirius felt the years turn back, to Azkaban and his wild hopes that Remus' unnatural way of understanding things would make him come running to get him freed. He had imagined, so many times, that Lupin would push his way into the cell and _demand_ to know why no one had seen the obvious deception, and tell them all that Sirius could not _possibly_ be guilty.

It hadn't happened. Azkaban had drawn on and on and on, and he had lost his hopes, and felt his deepest, darkest fears peeled back to be revealed: dear old Moony thought he was a murderer. He thought he'd betrayed everyone.

And that had hurt almost as much as if he'd actually done it.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Moony," he admitted, shaking. "I don't know…"

"You used to know everything," Lupin choked. "It's not right, what happened. I'd take your place in a heartbeat, Padfoot. God knows my life isn't perfect, but I'd give it all up to you if I could."

Such words from Lupin weren't right either. Nothing was, anymore.

He shook his head, savoring the warmth of a human only moments more before pulling away. "You know I don't mean it," he said. "I always – always used to say things I didn't mean. I still do it. I'm sorry, Moony, I really am."

"It's not something to take for granted," Lupin told him in a quiet voice. "There's a grave difference between someone putting dye in your shampoo and what I did."

And finally, Sirius let himself fall into one of those deceitfully comforting chairs, wishing he'd been able to have this conversation at some later date, before he had to dredge up all his fury to deal with Dumbledore. It was hard to get anything through to him when one was calm – he would lead you and twist things so that everything seemed so damned _illogical_ and you felt stupid for asking in the first place. You could only try to bulldoze him, with a firm purpose in mind and a hard enough manner that he'd take you seriously.

"Damn, I wish things were simple again," Sirius muttered with a hand on his face.

"They never really were," Lupin told him wearily. "You just made them that way by being stubborn."

Sirius looked up. "I'm about to do it again," he informed his old friend. "But I'm not involving you this time. Just get going and I'll – we'll talk later. I promise."

Lupin's mouth quirked, but it was only a tip of the hat to old times. Nothing was better at all.

"I would really advise getting under that cloak," he said, lackluster. "Karkaroff and Maxime both know the way in. And… Snape."

Sirius grit his teeth against the name; Snape, teaching at the school, never failed to raise the hairs on the back of his neck. Of course, this was perfect for his need at the moment.

And Hermione. Sheet white Hermione. Dying-dead Hermione, green-tinged like James or Lily.

Yes. That would be sufficient.

"You've always been so smart, Moony," he said haltingly, pulling the cloak over himself.

Things had changed. It would take time for them to feel comfortable again.

"Never in the ways that mattered," Lupin sighed, staring at the seemingly empty room.

He turned to leave, unhappy, but stopped for just a moment to call back.

"Take care, Padfoot."

Staring out from James' old cloak, stolen but perfect, Sirius could only shake his head and laugh.

000000

It took Dumbledore a full hour to appear in his own office. But, as per usual, he knew of Sirius' presence before Sirius knew of his.

"Phineas Nigellus says you've something important to tell me," he said gravely, moving over to his desk and sitting heavily.

Sirius glared at the empty portrait above Dumbledore's desk before sweeping the cloak from his shoulders.

"Phineas Nigellus talks a hell of a lot more than he ought to," he said. "Especially for someone under a silence spell."

"I was obliged to remove it," Dumbledore apologized, though Sirius knew he was only acting for his benefit – Nigellus was one of his most important advisors.

Sirius trained this glare on Dumbledore now, feeling for once that it was not the petulant grimace of a child. He had his reasons, god damnit. And Dumbledore was going to listen, for once.

"I see you do have something to talk about," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Hermione."

The name came out horribly forceful. A normal person might think that Sirius was angry at _her_ (and he was, slightly, but that wasn't the point). Dumbledore, however, knew the subtle distinction.

"She has been doing very well, from what I can tell," he said.

Sirius slammed his hand down on the desk. It rattled the golden instruments precariously. "Don't give me that," he said angrily. "We both know the truth – or a really screwed up version, in my case. She's getting pulled apart."

Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair and looking strained.

"She made the decision on her own, Sirius," he said. "You may not believe me when I say I did not exert any pressure on her, but I did not."

"You're right," Sirius said with narrowed eyes. "I don't believe you. You'd do anything as long as you thought it was for the best."

Dumbledore looked up at him – he _looked_, with that penetrating glance of his, and he probably saw more than he would ever tell.

"What if it is for the best?" Dumbledore asked softly. "How can I distinguish between her and anyone else, if she is willing to take on the burden?"

"She's a _child_," Sirius said frustratedly. "She can't _make_ that kind of decision! How do you expect her to understand, what it would do to her parents, what it would do to _Harry-_"

"So it truly is about Harry?" Dumbledore asked in that familiar, terrible, logical tone of voice that meant the conversation would end in his victory. "You care about him, above everything else?"

Sirius swallowed, feeling a dread seize him. "How can I not?" he asked. "He's – you _know._ He's Harry."

Dumbledore sighed, his eyes dropping to the slowly rotating gyroscope on his desk. His next words came with palpable difficulty. "I understand that you have come to care for Miss Granger as well – it's natural that you should. You have been through trials enough together." His eyes glimmered behind the spectacles on his face, and Sirius knew that it wasn't just the light of the room. "But what if you had to choose between them?"

Sirius felt his breath stop.

How – no. That was impossible. But _no_, it was all too probable. How could he not have even conceived of the possibility that such a situation had been created?

"You-" His voice was hoarse, and he knew he sounded like a man frightened beyond his worst fears. "You can't be serious."

Dumbledore's hand moved slowly, to halt the gyroscope in its spin. Being magical, it did not clatter to the desk as it ought have done. But his fingers were white on its golden surface.

"What she is doing is dangerous," Dumbledore said in a tone barely above a whisper. "And she is aware, somewhere within herself, that the possibility of her death cannot be discounted."

"You can't count on that," Sirius managed. "She can't really know-"

"Without a doubt, I tell you," Dumbledore said. "In Miss Granger, Harry has found a friend the likes of which he cannot imagine. She has done more for less, before."

"The full moon," Sirius said in a shaking voice. "And Wormtail."

"The timeturner has a terrifying potential," Dumbledore agreed quietly. "And I do not understand it completely. Which makes me even more hesitant to accept this vein of action."

"What action?" Sirius asked. "What is it she's _doing?_"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Forget this conversation, Mr. Black," he said. "Forget everything I have told you. You can think, as I can, of any number of reasons Miss Granger would keep this secret from you. And it will only make things harder for her if you persist where she is unwilling."

"That's not right," he said blankly, his head dropping to his hands. "None of this is right."

"No," Dumbledore agreed sadly. "It is not."

_But_, went the unspoken addition. _It is for the best._


	20. A Day Without Studying

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 19 – A Day Without Studying**

"It is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do."  
**-Jerome K. Jerome**

Hermione heard nothing from Sirius for days – and this suited her perfectly well. If the idea of facing him had before been uncomfortable, it was now _unthinkable_.

The next day, she woke late to an empty commonroom and quickly cloistered herself in the library with her books and homework. She refused – absolutely _refused_ – to think about Sirius and what he might say to Dumbledore and why she felt a little sick to her stomach at the thought that he might be angry with her.

Yes, she would not think about it. That being why she was still staring blankly at her titled parchment half an hour after she'd entered the library.

With a groan, she let her head fall to the table. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time, she wondered why Sirius seemed to have taken up such a large part of what used to be a fairly simple life.

"Are you haffing trouble?"

Hermione sat back up with a blink at the familiar voice. "Uh…" For some reason (it had nothing to do with Sirius' words, at all, at _all_) she was suddenly stuttering at Krum. "No," she finished quickly. "I just can't concentrate, it seems."

He nodded sympathetically, and she noticed strangely that he was looking, for lack of a better word, _groomed_ today.

"Vell, it sometimes helps me to go walking during such times," he suggested hesitantly. "Vould you like to do so?" His voice carried the unmistakable suggestion of '_with me'_ at the end.

A muffled gasp from behind Krum sent Hermione's eyes from his figure – a few girls were standing together, now whispering to each other furiously. Ah. _Wonderful._

"You might have problems with your fan club if I do that," she suggested sardonically, pointing toward the group.

Krum turned around to look at them as though he'd never seen them in his life. Perhaps he hadn't – he didn't seem too self-aware, if she did say so herself. He had certainly never been so while she was watching, excepting perhaps the Quidditch World Cup.

His face came back to her confused. "Does what they think matter so much?"

Hermione blinked at this thought spoken aloud, caught off guard. That had been perhaps the last thing she may have expected from him.

"I-" she stumbled. "Well… no. Not really."

He smiled in a relieved way, and she found herself suddenly wondering why a person with such a very _different_ personality was going to Durmstrang at all.

"Well why not, then?" she asked herself, shutting her book with a snap and putting it back in her bag. "It's not as though I'm managing any work anyway."

Krum moved forward to take the bag before she could load it onto her shoulder, though, still smiling that strangely relieved smile. Hermione, feeling her face heat in an equally strange way, stepped out nervously from the desk to walk beside him.

The small gaggle of girls stepped off to the side as they passed, whispering even more furiously – but for once, Hermione paid them absolutely no mind as she stared at Krum, trying to figure him out.

"I haff read this book, a little," he said as they exited into the hall. "The Count of Mont-i Cristo. It is very good."

Hermione looked down to see a familiar, well-worn copy of said book in his hand. To her surprise, there was a bookmark sticking out at least two thirds of the way through.

"I'm glad you like it," Hermione said, genuinely pleased that he had listened to her suggestion at all. "I wasn't sure it would be your taste-"

"No, no, it is perfect," he reassured her with a smile. It was a smile different from the way Harry or Ron smiled at her, a little more gentle and strangely focused at the same time. Hermione found herself floundering through her words as they discussed the book, unnaturally inarticulate at the unfamiliar feeling of being that focus.

She found to her surprise that Viktor Krum was actually quite an intelligent person. His words didn't come quickly, but the ideas behind them were always insightful and well thought out. As though he were a spectator on the world, forming opinions as it floated by.

Hermione found she'd enjoyed their conversation a little too much, by the time she returned, escorted, to the Fat Lady's portrait. It was already eight, and very dark.

"I haff enjoyed this afternoon," Krum said with a slightly dazed expression. "Perhaps you should leave the library more often?"

Hermione blushed at this; if it had been said in a different tone, by a different person, she may have become irritated, but she knew he was saying it in good faith.

"I – I think so, actually," she confessed. "I enjoyed it as well."

He coughed nervously, and after an awkward kind of silence, Hermione spoke. "Well. Well – I should be getting in, then. Curfew is soon, I think."

Krum nodded at this, and cleared his throat. "Yes."

There was another, slow hesitation before she found the courage to turn her back and face the portrait. "Um. Fairy lights," she said sheepishly.

The Fat Lady, who had apparently been avidly eavesdropping the entire time, winked at her as she opened up.

Hermione slipped into the commonroom with her bag weighty on her shoulder, her brain turned to utter mush. She had blatantly ignored homework. And, worse, she had _liked_ it.

So dazed was she by this realization that she didn't even notice George and Ron playing chess in the corner. And, by extension, she completely missed Ron's raised eyebrows and George's shocked expression.

"D'you know," Ron said in surprise as she went up the stairs, "I think she might have been telling the truth before."

George blinked. Then, inexplicably, he shoved himself up from the table and disappeared out the portrait.

000000

The week seemed to go by in a blur after that. Hermione spent most of Monday and Tuesday in the library, working on her homework and glancing up every few minutes in what she might have thought to be a surreptuous way. Wednesday, Krum came back and stumbled through a request for some other book recommendation, which she quickly obliged.

She liked him. It was a strange kind of thing to decide after agreeing to go to a dance with him, but she did. He was surprisingly intelligent, and well-spoken, and his slow, relaxed way about it was refreshingly different compared to her normally hectic life. And, what was more, he was _polite._ There was such an utter dearth of this particular quality in her life that she found it very valuable. Especially at the moment.

_But,_ whispered a voice in her head, _you also like that he makes you feel special._ It sounded suspiciously like Sirius.

And besides, what was wrong with feeling special? In a _good_ way, and not in that responsible-for-keeping-her-stupid-friends-alive way.

Nothing. There was nothing wrong with it.

Except, she thought guiltily as she picked through Hogsmeade, except that she was beginning to think that he really did like her for more than her non-Slytherin status; that he'd asked her to the Yule Ball with genuine intentions. And while she _did_ like his manners and his ponderous, momentous intelligence… every time he looked at her with that strange smile in his eyes, a pang went off in her stomach.

How was it possible for her to end up leading him on when there had really been nothing there to begin with?

This thought was in her mind even as she slipped off to Hogsmeade in some of her more normal clothes in order to get her late Christmas shopping done.

It was more than a little daunting exiting the secret passage in Honeydukes' cellar by herself, with no invisibility cloak or map to help her, but Hermione managed it despite herself, and made up for her slightly guilty conscience by buying her friends a great deal of candy there. Ron, in particular, had eaten through his entire supply of Sugarquills. Hermione bought him more, despite the fact that she knew he was nibbling on them in classes. Christmas spirit and all that.

The twins were another matter. Fred – well enough. She'd been able to get her hands on a copy of _Potions and You (and Exploding Things Too)_, with which she was sure he'd be delighted. George, though… for some horrific reason, she couldn't seem to come up with anything satisfactory for him. The best she'd been able to do was a few boxes of trick Exploding Snaps – and while it wasn't an overly cheap present, it still felt lacking to her.

The last person on her list was, of course, the most confusing. _Sirius_.

Hermione found herself sitting in front of a fire in the Three Broomsticks, sipping a butterbeer and trying to ignore the glint of silver on her right thumb.

She wanted to say that it was inevitable that they would figure things out and continue their strange friendship once more. Sirius had said some horrible things – and that, she could forgive. But many of them had also been true. And her pride seemed to rear its head every time the thought occurred that a Christmas present would be a good first step on her part toward reconciliation.

_And Viktor is a nice person,_ she thought heatedly, her hands clenching in her lap. _He can't go judging people preemptively like that his whole life!_

She looked down to find her other fingers worrying at the ring, though, and a resignation came over her.

Of _course_ she was getting him a present. He'd helped her out on numerous occasions, and even though he wasn't always the perfect human specimen, he had been through a hell of a life. Not to mention, he'd saved _her_ life.

In the long run, this was probably a petty thing. Probably.

She grit her teeth against the thought and rose, leaving the money for the drink. So what was it Sirius could use?

Her mind hit on a possibility.

000000

"Did you hear?"

"What?"

"_Roger Davies._ The lucky bastard!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at her book as she walked into the Great Hall for dinner. It was Christmas Eve, and all anyone seemed able to talk about was the student who'd snagged Fleur Delacour for a date.

"I swear," she gritted as she sat down beside Harry and Ron, "if one more person so much as _mentions_ that girl-"

Ron turned utterly white, and Harry's eyes grew large behind him. 'Wrong thing to say' he mouthed.

"What is it?" Hermione asked confusedly.

"Er – uh – nothing. Nothing," Ron managed.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, unconvinced.

"Let's eat," he said with a sudden false cheer, looking around. Harry leaned over to whisper in her ear:

"He tried to ask her to the Ball tomorrow."

"Ron!" she said indignantly, despite Harry's protests. "You _have_ a date, don't you?"

He winced, pausing with a chicken wing in his hand. "I _know_, Hermione! You weren't there, though, you don't know – she – I _swear_, there's something weird about her!"

Harry, beside him, was nodding. "Well, when we were weighing wands, she said her grandmother was a Veela."

Hermione's mouth curled in distaste. Ah. _Veela._

Ron looked somewhat better at this revelation. "So I guess I couldn't've helped it," he said, half to them and half to himself.

Hermione tried not to laugh too loudly as she poured some soup into her bowl. Ron had probably wanted to ask her, somewhere in the back of his mind. The 'weird' fourth of Fleur had just given him a little push, in her opinion.

On the subject of champions…

"Harry," Hermione said, "How are you doing on your next task? Any progress?"

Harry paused with a spoonful of potatoes nearly to his mouth. He seemed to deliberate a lot over his answer.

"Yeah, I think I've almost got it," he said after a moment. "Just a little while longer, I figure."

Hermione smiled. "That's good, Harry. I guess you've finally learned how to buckle down without me over your shoulder."

He laughed a little at this, while Ron looked cross and muttered something about singing day planners.

Harry began to bolt down his food in record timing immediately afterward, though, and he rose to leave early.

"Harry?" she asked quizzically.

"Gotta do something," he said enigmatically, before rushing out the doors of the Great Hall.

Hermione's brow knit, but she went back to her dinner quickly. She hoped it wasn't something severe he'd forgotten, like dress robes. He'd bought some, hadn't he? Yes, she seemed to recall him saying so.

_Dress robes?_

Oh. _Oh._ She was going to the ball. She would be wearing her dress robes!

Hermione felt her face grow warm from simultaneous delight and embarrassment. Parvati had promised before to help her look her best. And though she'd scoffed at the time… well, perhaps a little help from someone with expertise in the area wouldn't hurt, after all.

_Who are you trying to impress?_ Sirius' sarcastic voice sneered in her head.

The delight faded, replaced by apprehension as she walked up to bed.

She didn't know.

000000

Hermione had to get up early the next morning to banish her presents beneath the commonroom tree, but she allowed herself a sleep in afterward much past the other students – Crookshanks joined her without reservation. By the time she got down, Harry and Ron had not only opened all their presents, but also started in on the candy she'd given them.

"Oh – Hermynee!" Ron called with a mouthful of chocolate frog. "Fanks for the chocolate!"

She shook her head and yawned, making her way slowly down the stairs. Then, with suspicion, she looked around.

"Where are Fred and George?" she asked. "Their presents are still beneath the tree."

Ron shrugged. "Still sleeping, I guess," he said, having swallowed the chocolate. "I don't really want to know if they're off somewhere else, actually. Usually ends up bad for everyone involved."

Hermione frowned at him, but sat down and curled her legs beneath her to start in on her own presents.

She found herself surprised at her number of presents. Harry had gotten her a book on standard level foreign charms – it was good of him to remember she'd been asking about something of the sort at the library. Ron had gotten her a stock of taffy, continuing on his firm quest to make her eat as much sugar as possible while out from under the 'tyranny' of her parents; speaking of whom, they'd sent her a few new muggle novels she'd been dying to read, as well as a rather shocking amount of money.

Hermione pulled the note from their package, noting that it was in her mother's neater handwriting.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Merry Christmas! We hope this finds you well – it's rather hard to find your way into Diagon Alley to use the post without a wand, you know. It's so different having you away from home this year (not that we're trying to make you feel guilty about staying, just saying that you better come home next year – Mom). _

_Things have stepped up at the office because of the Christmas onset of customers, and we've quite a bit more money than expected. And since we're so proud of your grades this year, and all your extra hard work, we figured a little bonus was in order for you as well. Don't spend it **all** on books. As admirable as it is to be reading all the time, you need to get out more. Perhaps you could get one of those flying broomsticks and get some exercise (Your father just wants to see one when you come home – Mom)._

_We sent all your relatives' cards with the owl in the bottom of the package. We love you and miss you and Dad is eating your slice of pumpkin pie. (Don't worry, I'll get him to make more so we can send some. – Mom)._

_Have a wonderful rest of the year,_

_Mom and Dad_

She smiled, feeling a little ache in her chest with their letter. She did love Hogwarts, and she was happy to be in the unique position of staying because she'd been asked to a ball (ignoring the part where Harry was probably going to be in danger somehow, someway and she couldn't leave without feeling like the world would collapse into anarchy in her absence). But… she did miss her parents dearly. It was a drastic change from seeing them every day, being able to ask how their day had gone at the office, hearing about the more crazy patients. Usually, she was simply so busy that thoughts of home didn't have time to crop up. Not being home during the holidays, though, had made her slightly homesick again.

"Oh, hey," Harry told her. "You've got a present from Fred and George." Then, after a pause. "Maybe we ought to clear the area before you open it."

Hermione rolled her eyes – it was much too likely that the present was indeed trapped – but she decided she would simply take it out of one or both of the twins' hides if something happened. Harry handed her the small gold and red box and then promptly removed himself to the far wall.

Slowly, she pulled on the red ribbon that tied the box shut. The bow slithered into a single line, and disappeared.

Suspiciously, Hermione pulled off the top of the tiny box.

An official-looking paper unfolded itself from the box, and stopped in front of her to float. There were only two words on it:

_Sign here._

An x and a line followed – Hermione's brows came together in confusion.

"No explosion?" Harry asked from across the room. Ron poked his head out from behind the couch.

"No, no explosion," Hermione affirmed, still puzzled.

A quill flicked her on the head, stinging her.

"Ouch," she said in surprise. Then- "Hey, stop that!"

The feathered end had begun to tickle her under the chin with much vigor. Hermione batted at it, giggles beginning to escape her despite her best control.

"Har-ry! Ron! Help!" She found herself on the floor, gasping for breath as the quill went for that damned vulnerable spot behind her ear.

They looked at each other, seeming to think about this for a moment.

"Dunno…" Ron said doubtfully. "What if the _quill_ explodes?"

Harry nodded, looking concerned. "It's the kind of thing they'd do."

"You – JERKS!" Hermione managed, twisting in her attempts to get away from the thing. "_I'll_ make you explode!"

Harry grinned, to show it was all in good humor. "All right, all right…" he acquiesced, moving over to make a grab for the quill.

It turned on him immediately, rubbing itself under his nose. Harry sneezed violently, stumbling away and falling unceremoniously onto the couch.

Hermione pulled her wand, then pointed it straight at the quill. "That's enough!" she said breathlessly.

The quill shivered in the air, for a moment – then fell directly to the ground.

Harry rubbed at his face and tried to sit up. "That wasn't a spell," he accused her, as though distraught that Hermione would use her wand for anything else.

"No, it wasn't," she said, slipping her wand back into her pajamas. "That was the halt command." She walked over to the inert quill, picking it up and turning back to the paper.

"How'd you know that?" Ron asked, throwing himself onto the couch as well.

Hermione shrugged. "Lucky guess?" she said, analyzing the parchment for any suspicious marks or spells.

In actuality, the Tickling Quill was something Fred had asked her to tweak a little earlier that year. It hadn't taken all that long. The twins were perfect on most of their spells; it was just getting the effects to stop that they usually had trouble with. The command had been Hermione's input, and she'd half-expected it to have been changed.

Focusing on the parchment, though, she couldn't seem to find anything out of order. It looked official, and it was in good handwriting. She couldn't seem to puzzle out anything more or less than a Ministry document lacking any other words.

Of course, that in itself was somewhat dangerous.

"Well…" she said uncertainly to herself. "They wouldn't send me anything _bad_ for Christmas, would they?"

"Possibly," Ron told her. "They've done it to me. 'Course, they thought I was going to find it as funny as they did."

Sighing, Hermione grabbed the parchment and signed her name. The parchment popped away with her last dotted 'i', but the quill remained. Perhaps they'd given it to her, after all.

She shrugged, and added it to her goodie bag to be taken upstairs. She could always ask them about the signature later.

"Hermione!" Ginny's voice came from upstairs. "Parvati says she needs you!"

Hermione frowned, checking the time. It wasn't even late afternoon, and the Yule Ball was going to start at eight. Why on earth would Parvati want her _now?_

"Her_mi_one!" Ginny whined. "Get up here, before she tries to rework my makeup again!"

With a sigh, Hermione rose from her seat, picking up a sling of presents to carry up to her room. Harry and Ron's eyes were on her back as she went, and Ron opened his mouth as though to ask her who she was going with – but he closed it before the words could come out.

Hermione went to her dorm room's door and hiked her bag of gifts on one shoulder. Then, she took a deep breath, and knocked.


	21. The Yule Ball

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

A comment on the quote – it doesn't quite fit. Not _quite._ But it stuck in my head as I was writing the chapter, so I finally caved and put it in. Also, FYI, there is a rather large bombshell in this one, if you know how to read it correctly. Which, I'm certain at least a few of you will.

In the meantime – you're now going to wonder where alcohol enters into all of this. (smile)

**Chapter 20 – The Yule Ball**

"_Drunkenness is nothing but voluntary madness."_  
**-Seneca**

"Are you _coming_, Hermione?"

Standing just behind the door, Hermione contemplated doing that. The idea of running to her bed and hiding beneath the covers the rest of the night was warring with her prior plans, and beginning to win.

"Out you go," Parvati said with a push.

Hermione stumbled a little, her dress robes barely swishing through the door before it closed.

Ginny, at the bottom of the stairs, let out a loud squeal. Hermione winced, but felt her anxious excitement grow nonetheless.

"It's _perfect_," she gushed. "Oh, just wait, you'll knock everyone's socks off-"

"I don't know about that," Hermione interrupted nervously, making her way carefully down the stairs. She made a quick mental prayer that she wouldn't trip over her own heels at some point during the night.

Parvati rushed past her, perfectly balanced. "Ooh, I'm way late," she said. "I hope Harry's not too mad."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably against the rail as Parvati reached the portrait. "I don't think he will be," she said, just now taking in the fact that _Harry_ was going to have a _date_.

Parvati's shoes clipped out the portrait, but she poked her head back in a moment later. "Viktor's waiting outside," she called to Hermione in a sing-song voice, letting out a slight giggle a moment later.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at Hermione, and made a shooing motion.

Her stomach clenched into a knot.

_What if he doesn't like it, what if we clash or something, I should have prepared better-_

She realized belatedly that she'd walked herself out of the commonroom and into the hall. She recognized Krum from behind, noting his sharp black and red dress robes. Going together might not be too bad, but they didn't match like Parvati had been gushing about her and Harry-

Krum turned around, and she swallowed hard. He'd always been neatly groomed, but at the moment he was looking darkly handsome in a way that just couldn't be healthy.

His face lit up, and she nearly forgot to breathe.

"Her-my-own," he said in surprise. "You are- truly-"

He seemed to forget himself, and he shook his head, murmuring something in Bulgarian that sounded fairly impressed.

Hermione felt a hot blush creep up her cheeks, and hoped it wasn't too obvious. "I- um – you too?" she managed, not certain what to make of it.

His eyes didn't leave her face as he walked over to her; he offered his arm, and she took it dazedly. His warmth seeped through to her bare arm, and she took comfort from its solidity. Despite their time together, she'd never actually _touched_ Krum, she realized.

He was smiling at her now, that strange smile that always turned her brain to mush.

"Ah – I haff almost forgotten," he said suddenly. "You know how to dance, Her-my-own?"

She blinked, searching for her voice. It seemed to have deserted her, along with her mental functions. "Um," she said articulately.

He seemed worried about this response. "They say the champions must dance first," he told her. "But if you do not vish to-"

"Oh, no!" she said quickly. "No, I know how to dance, I'm sorry. It's no problem."

His face cleared in relief. "I did not vish to make you uncomfortable," he told her. "They told me only tonight."

Hermione made an effort to smile reassuringly. "It'll be fine," she told him. _As long as we stay away from Harry,_ she thought to herself, remembering that he'd told her he didn't know how to dance.

She had to direct him to the Great Hall, as he'd not quite learned the layout of the castle yet, but once they reached the crowd in front of it, Krum took the lead and steered her carefully through the chatting couples.

The floor was very conspicuously empty, though the music was playing. No one wanted to dance socially if it meant going out first, it seemed.

Hermione looked around instinctively for Harry and Ron, and saw them sitting together at a table near the back. The Patil twins were looking uncomfortable as per the room's current atmosphere, while Harry and Ron were perfectly oblivious, acting as though they were merely having dinner in the Great Hall.

Well. Not her problem, tonight.

Hermione unconsciously clutched Krum's arm closer as the slightly colder air hit her arms. Apparently, the ice sculptures couldn't rely entirely on freezing charms.

"You may borrow my coat, if you vish," Krum said concernedly to her. She felt her blush return, and shook her head quickly, just as McGonagall made her way over to the center of the dance floor.

"If I may," she called, tapping her wand on an ice swan. "_Ahem!"_

The room went silent, not needing much encouragement at all.

"That's better," McGonagall said. "Now then. In the spirit of the Yule holidays, I would like to extend a very warm welcome to our guests on behalf of Hogwarts. It has been a pleasure having you, and it is encouraging to see so many of you mixing with those from other schools." Her eyes seemed to be picking out the champions pre-emptively, so that Hermione was not surprised at her next comment. "The Yule Ball traditionally starts with a dance by the Champions and their escorts. So, if I may have the four champions and their dates on the floor…"

Hermione swallowed as Krum began to walk out, feeling slightly queasy at the sudden attention everyone was giving her (was it really so incredible that she might be going to the ball with him?). She felt overly conscious of her awkward steps in the heels, trying not to so clearly envision herself tripping and taking the rest of the champions with her.

Krum let her arm go once they reached the far side of the floor, but quickly took her hand and shoulder blade. His frame was strong, if a little clumsy. She felt her nervousness ebb slightly as she realized she would be able to follow him.

He smiled reassuringly at her, and she felt herself smile back.

"The music, then…" McGonagall said behind her, tapping her wand again, this time at the orchestra.

_They wouldn't make us dance Viennese Waltz,_ Hermione thought suddenly, wildly. _No, they couldn't possibly expect that of us-_

Viennese Waltz was a hard dance. She was utterly certain she wouldn't be able to do it. Just as utterly certain as she was they would play one, just because she was so frightened of it.

The music that soon started, though, was not a Viennese Waltz, to her relief. It was a Waltz, but a very normal one. Anyone could do a box step, and they'd certainly kept that in mind.

Krum took a first, hesitant step on time, and Hermione went with him, rotating a little bit. He paused for a hesitation, as though starting easy for her. She appreciated the gesture, though it seemed unnecessary. She felt herself relax into his lead, and the following box step went just as easily. Soon, he gained confidence, and they started sweeping down the floor in alternating half boxes.

"You follow very vell," he told her with some amount of surprise.

Hermione's smile widened. "I'm glad," she told him. "I haven't actually practiced with a person before."

This _did_ surprise him. "I cannot tell," he said, and she felt he was being honest. It made her glow with a greater pride than anything she'd heard about her dress robes.

Soon, they were passing up both Cedric and Harry, though Roger Davies seemed at least competent and Fleur was back leading him expertly. Other couples began filing onto the floor, and Krum started to maneuver her between them.

Nonetheless, someone else soon bumped into her. She turned her head to apologize – and paused, momentarily taken aback.

"Sorry about- _Hermione?_"

George's eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

"Er – hello, George," Hermione said, before she slipped through a gap in the crowd and lost sight of him again.

Inexplicably, she found herself straining to find him the rest of the song. Who had he come with, anyway? Hadn't he been missing a date when she'd talked to him?

She didn't see him again during the dance, but she _did _catch sight of Harry, who was now doing an almost passable job of a box step. Parvati didn't seem to know the difference, and looked positively ecstatic to be doing anything resembling a real dance at all.

_Well done, Harry,_ she mentally congratulated him.

The song ended on a sweet, drawn-out note, and Krum brought them to a halt. "Vould you like a drink?" he asked her, looking once more dazed. A pang of guilt went off in her stomach.

"Um, if they have punch, I suppose," she said.

He nodded, and escorted her from the floor before making his way toward the fountain.

Hermione moved to sit down, but was thwarted by a sudden grab at her arm. Long fingers dug into her skin, pulling her back toward the floor.

She knew even before the hand grabbed her shoulder blade that she was not going to much enjoy this dance. The whiff of expensive cologne and the flash of pale white skin told her as much.

"Granger," Malfoy said, turning her about and leading her strongly into a more advanced move. "I wasn't aware you'd learned to dance."

It wasn't a compliment – more of a stiff conversational move.

"What are you playing at?" she hissed, eyes darting around to check for Harry or Ron. If either of them saw her dancing with Malfoy, of all people, there would be an ugly confrontation in the middle of the floor.

"I wouldn't worry about your friends," Malfoy said blithely, catching on to her worry. "They're concentrating on dancing or drinking, I'd expect." He talked easily while he led – obviously, he'd been expertly taught. Nothing less from a Malfoy.

"And _your_ friends?" she asked, with narrowed eyes.

He pushed her through an underarm turn, and she stumbled a little as someone nearly collided with her.

When Malfoy caught her again, she found herself in a rather more tight position, owing to the growing crowd. It was not something she relished.

"It's almost acceptable to be around you, with _him_ as your escort," Malfoy said in her ear. "But other than that, you look uncomfortable enough to make it a bad gesture on my part."

Hermione tried to pull away, but he was much stronger than he looked – his hand on her shoulder blade held her in place.

"Just what I was talking about," he said with a cold smile.

"So what _do_ you want," she asked him, trying to keep the disgust from her features.

"Other than a partner who knows how to dance?" he asked casually. "I thought I would tell you to stop your little head trips. Or at least not talk about them."

He spun her in place – something she'd definitely never done before – and she felt her throat tighten. "What do you mean?" she asked, thinking of the timeturner, warm against her chest under two layers of cloth. She had wanted so badly to take it off and leave it behind, for just one night, but a paranoia had begun to take her that she might miss something important without it.

"The visions, Granger," he said suddenly, sounding less friendly now. "You won't have them anymore, do you hear me?"

He was talking about what she'd seen in Divination, then. That made more sense – but it didn't make her feel any better about what he was saying.

"What do you know?" she asked, feeling her stomach tighten.

He leaned in farther, his breath tickling her ear, and she shrank a bit.

"Something is going on," he said. "Certain people are getting antsy. I've been asked more than once about you, in little casual ways."

Hermione swallowed hard. "What- what did you say?" she asked.

And then – so close his lips might have touched her ear – "It was a joke, Granger. You understand me?"

She _didn't_ understand, for a moment. It occurred to her that all of this really was his way of making her uncomfortable. But no – he was too serious for that.

"Clarify," she gritted out, working harder to pull away.

"Your _prediction_," he hissed impatiently. "It was an elaborate joke on the old bat. I heard Potter and Weasley laughing about it in the hall, and you had _better_ make sure that someone asking them will hear the same thing."

Hermione froze, and Malfoy let out a curse as he stumbled over her.

He grabbed her again, less closely, and she realized a moment later that he was actually trying to finish out the song. Blankly, she obliged him, going through a complex series of steps she probably wouldn't have been able to if she were paying attention.

The song ended, and he gave her one last scathing look before pushing off into the crowd.

She stepped off of the floor and caught sight of Krum, looking somewhat lost.

"Um – Viktor!" she called, the name feeling foreign in her mouth. "Over here!"

He saw her and walked over, carrying two goblets of what looked like fruit punch.

"Someone caught me for a dance," she explained quickly. "I'm sorry."

He handed her a goblet with another quick smile. "It is good – you vould attract much attention tonight."

She sat down at the table, setting the punch down and tucking her legs together in front of her chair. She cleared her throat nervously. "So, ah – what are you planning to do, once you get out of school?" It surprised her vaguely that she hadn't asked this before, but then, most of their conversation had been on books and philosophy so far.

Krum seemed to mull this over a while, sipping at the punch. "I vill be vith the Quidditch for a long time, I think. It is a good career."

Hermione made an 'o' with her mouth, surprised she hadn't thought of this. "I'm sorry, I keep forgetting you play," she said with an embarrassed laugh.

He shook his head. "No, it is a good question. After, I vould like to travel. I haff always been interested in Egypt and the artifacts they find there."

Hermione put a hand to her mouth. "Oh!" she said. "Oh! Ron's brother Bill has worked as a curse breaker over there, I'm sure he'd love to show you around!"

Krum seemed instantly intrigued by this. "Ron is- he is the red haired friend?"

She nodded. "His brother Charlie was working with the dragons, too. Do you remember him at all?"

Krum made a sound of affirmation instantly. "He is the one to muzzle the Fireball," he recalled. "Very quick on his feet. I vas thinking he vould have played Quidditch in school."

Hermione beamed. "I'm fairly sure he did, actually. Here, why don't I introduce you to Ron-" She took a short swallow of her punch to make certain she wouldn't spill it as she walked, then rose from her seat. Krum offered her his arm again, but she noticed that he was now looking deep in thought, mulling over possibilities as she knew she sometimes did.

Harry and Ron, as it happened, were deep in conversation about that sports move Krum had done at the Cup (started with a 'W', if she recalled). Parvati and Padma were nowhere to be seen. They had probably grown just as bored with it as Hermione often did.

They didn't notice her until she was just about upon them.

"Hermione!" Harry said in surprise, nearly falling off his seat. "You – well. Hey."

Ron was looking at her with a strange mixture of emotions on his face. Something like admiration, and maybe regret. Perhaps he was thinking better of the way he'd belittled the possibility of her date.

"Um," she said sheepishly. "I thought I'd introduce everyone, but I suppose you've all met already."

Krum let go of her arm to bow courteously, which clearly astonished both of them. Hermione sometimes had the sneaking suspicion they didn't even know how to shake hands, let alone be officially courteous.

"I haff met you two, at the table," Krum recalled. "It is good to talk again."

Hermione tried not to laugh at Ron's sudden awe-struck look. After all, she couldn't really talk, with her Lockhart hero-worship…

"Viktor said he's interested in Egyptian artifacts," Hermione told Ron. "I thought you might know more, what with Bill and your trip there…"

"You haff been to the ruins?" Krum asked with clear interest in his voice.

Ron blinked a moment, before nodding hurriedly. "Er – yeah. Family went there, summer before last."

Krum pulled up a chair for Hermione, then sat down himself. "The mummies, they are still living, some?"

"Yeah," Ron said quickly. "There're warnings all around, not to use magic – they get attracted to it, and Bill told me some wizards turn up dead…"

Predictably, the conversation continued excitedly from here – and while Hermione started out quite interested in it, as she was in every eccentric bit of knowledge, her attention began to wane later on. She began to sip extensively at her punch, which necessitated that she replenish its contents a few times. But even with these short breaks to stretch her legs, she eventually found herself blinking back to reality at odd intervals.

"…so they tried to lock Percy in a tomb, but mum found out and let him out – you wouldn't believe it, but he was perfectly fine, not even scared. I reckon he didn't actually know there could've been one in there with him…"

Even this seemed inadequate to jolt her back to interest. Hermione's eyes wandered about the room, and she blinked as she realized it was slightly blurry.

"I hope this doesn't mean I'm going to need glasses," she sighed to herself, blinking hard a few times to clear things up.

"Hermione?" a voice asked, and while she wasn't entirely certain, she thought it might have been George. "Hey, I didn't get a chance to-" he broke off, and she turned to look at him, feeling a little hazy.

"You… you didn't… _drink_ that, did you?" George asked her in a strangely pitched voice.

Hermione looked down at her cup. It was empty.

"Well," she said. "What do you think?"

George said nothing, but his face had drained itself of color.

"Ugh," Harry said across from her. "I think I had a little too much myself, actually. I'm feeling somewhat sick."

Ron and Krum took no notice of their exchange, deeply engaged in conversation about scarab art.

"I feel fine," Hermione said to Harry. "Well, not _fine_, per se, but-"

Harry interrupted her by leaping to his feet, looking quite distressed of a sudden. He ran for the doors of the Great Hall, and George groaned.

"Told him it was a bad idea…" he muttered.

Hermione looked at him suspiciously. "Told who – what, exactly?" She had the feeling she ought to know what he was talking about, but her head was acting fuzzy, and her thoughts were moving slowly, as though through molasses.

George looked over at Krum once before slipping an arm around her shoulders and hoisting her up. "It's late anyway, Hermione, you ought to get to bed."

She blinked, swaying a little. Why on earth was she suddenly off balance? She'd been waltzing not three hours prior…

"I'm really sorry, by the way," he sighed, dragging her out the doors. "I don't know why I didn't think you might drink some."

Hermione felt her knees give way abruptly. George seemed somewhat prepared for this, as he caught the rest of her weight against himself.

"Must be the heels," Hermione muttered. "I knew they'd trip me up. Let me- let me take them off-" She pulled away, and found herself abruptly sitting on the floor. Shrugging, she worked clumsily at the straps of the shoes, frowning as her fingers slipped haphazardly about.

George knelt down next to her and started to work on them for her, undoing the clasps and slipping them off. Hermione wiggled her toes experimentally and found herself unaccountably fascinated by the action.

"Here now," George said, "Up we go."

He pulled her up under the arms, her shoes in his other hand. She stumbled up, beginning to suspect that it was not the heels after all.

The corridor was now mostly dark, and she felt her bare feet trip over themselves without light. George's arm pulled her closer to him, and for some reason she couldn't really fathom, it seemed entirely natural that she should lean into him and stop walking.

"Hermione?" he asked, sounding surprised and a little worried.

He wasn't cold, like Malfoy. He wasn't even uncomfortably admiring, like Krum. He was warm, and familiar, and she found she really just wanted to sit down where they were and enjoy the feeling of his arm around her shoulders.

"Come on, Hermione," he said. "We need to get you in bed."

She sighed tiredly, and decided she didn't want to go all that way to get to bed. Instead, she leaned in closer, setting her head just below his chin…

This. This was where she'd wanted to be, all along.

"H-hey," he said, his voice vibrating in her bones. "What are- Hermione-"

"Tired," she murmured, her eyes fluttering against her will. This changed when she realized that there was no protesting voice with a reason as to _why_ she shouldn't go to sleep right here.

Indeed. That sounded like an incredibly good idea.

She congratulated herself as her mind drifted off, warm and happy.

"Hermione. Hermione, don't-"

"_Hermione."_

_She smiled weakly against him, his arm close around her. It had been such a horrible, horrible day, and there were so many more to come, but for now… it was over, for now. She was warm, and safe._

"_If nothing else," she said in a trembling voice. "I'm glad you're still here."_

_The arm around her tightened._

She felt herself surface back to consciousness at some slight change – the warmth – but George –

Hermione winced, trying to sort out her brain. Everything had somehow mixed together inside, and it was suddenly hard to tell where she'd been and where she was.

There was something firm, but cushioned beneath her. She turned her head with a little sound, her eyes opening to slits. There were flickering lights in front of her eyes – fire?

A shape was moving in front of it, and she felt warm cotton descend on her, tucked a little here and there. She pulled it closer to herself, feeling somewhat cold at the sudden departure of her heat.

"_You'll get better, Hermione. I'll take care of you, so- so don't worry, all right?"_

A hand brushed away her hair – it had come loose from its careful bun. It had been up, though? Why?

The Ball. She'd been at the Ball, not… where?

Where…

Something horrible had happened. But she had been at the Ball, and somehow, she knew everyone there was fine. How could something horrible have happened and _not_ happened at once?

"_Why would I worry about myself, of all things?"_

Her heart plummeted, confused and frightened and somehow overwhelmed with a staggering _grief._

Something escaped her, between a laugh and a sob, and the hand at her forehead paused.

"Hermione?"

She moved her hand to take his, pulling it to her chest to fill the empty space there, just about where her heart ought to be.

His other hand moved to her shoulder, to pat her reassuringly. She swallowed, shaking, trying to pull the dream from her head. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. Because if it was real, it meant she'd failed, and she _couldn't_ fail.

"Ah…" George was muttering. "You're _that_ kind of drunk."

She latched onto his voice, bringing herself more fully awake. There was a sickening feeling inside that if she fell asleep, she would dream again, and it wouldn't be pleasant in the least.

"George?" she asked. "Please d-don't leave. I can't _think._ It's all muddled up, and I c-can't _think._"

He stiffened for a moment at her voice, but relaxed himself almost immediately after. "I'm not leaving," he said. "But you should get to sleep. You'll only feel worse if you don't get enough."

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I can't go to sleep like this," she said. "I won't wake up."

It was a horrible thought, and somehow certain in her mind. It was even worse for the thought that came after – that everything she'd done until now would be for nothing if she died.

_There's no second time around,_ she thought suddenly, her fingers tightening on George's hand. _I can't – I can't do it wrong._

"That's the alcohol talking," he told her with a sigh. "Believe me, you'll wake up."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No, it's not- you don't-"

"I really am sorry," he said, sounding genuinely regretful. "We spiked the punch, Hermione. I don't know how much you drank, but… well, enough, it looks like."

"I don't want anyone to die," she told him in a choked voice. "George…"

His hand stopped on her shoulder. "Why would anyone die?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said, feeling the panic in her heart turn to shivers. "I don't know, I don't know, I don't _know-_"

"_Why did he have to – he shouldn't have gone before me, it doesn't _work _like that-"_

"Shh – Hermione, go to sleep, you'll feel better, I swear." He was sounding guilty and somewhat frightened now, his fingers brushing reassuringly through her hair.

"_I know. I know."_

"Don't die, George," she whispered. "Not you too."

He pulled his hand from her grip, but quickly engulfed her in a tight hug.

"I'm not going anywhere, Hermione," he promised.


	22. Kickback

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

Hm. Just thought I'd note – I was all ready to write on the chapter, and I checked reviews for questions to answer. Then, I got this little misspelled jewel that said something about a gun to my head if I didn't update soon, even though the person "never reviewed me b4" and obviously had no reason to demand anything at all from me anyway as I don't know them. Shortly thereafter, I lost all desire to write and put it off until the end of the break.

Actually, I thought about quitting altogether for a while, but that was me feeling sorry for myself after an utterly terrible year. Suffice to say, donahermurphy and Jewel Song save the day completely by making up for the one crappy review with pages and pages of lurve. Thank you very very much. Even though I really didn't feel like typing anything for a good long while, here's all you nice patient people's Merry Christmas present with a bit of almost!teacher!Sirius on top. The only drawback to this entire scenario is that it put me off so long that the next chapter will have to come after school starts. Consequently, it means that won't be for a while. Sorry.

I'm sure I could come up with a very witty and cutting remark about inconsiderate twelve year olds on the internet here, but we've all heard it before, and it can end nowhere good. So, I'll settle for questions:

**Tombadgerlock:** It wasn't really a question, but I think you may have misinterpreted something I actually meant to be clear (er, for once). Malfoy was, in his snide, sarcastic, evil way, trying to tell Hermione that he was getting her off the hook for her prediction by telling everyone she'd played a bad joke by making a doom prediction to Trelawny. The last part was something along the lines of: "You better make sure Potter and Weasley will tell that to anyone who asks too, or both of us will get in huge, heaping amounts of dead." Though actually, I like this way better.

**Person4:** Your vagueness is appreciated, even if you're wrong. Knowing my luck, you'd come up with something a hundred times better and have people believing it up until the point I let them down lamely.

To all others: I love George too. I'd like one of my own one of these days. Sirius, too, is a decent sort. Hermione, as I've said before, will probably end up with Sirius, because I listed it as SBHG and I don't believe in letting people down after I've said one thing. Plus, it was a self-challenge to do a real older Sirius/ younger Hermione that _worked_ and I really don't want to cheat. But George has a really really really really really (ad nauseum) BIG part to play in this entire series. I _promise._ You've really just seen the tip of the iceberg.

Well. I've rambled on long enough. Anyone who actually read it all – I'm touched. Now go read the real thing.

WARNING: extreme, late night silliness ahead.

**Chapter 21 – Kickback**

"A hangover is the wrath of grapes."  
**-Unknown**

Hermione woke to a headache, and a quick fall from a short height.

"Ow," said the George she'd fallen on.

She groaned and scuttled off him, setting his presence to the back of her mind and trying to remember exactly how she'd come to be sleeping on the commonroom couch in full Yule Ball regalia.

Hermione frowned as she realized there was yet another large black spot in her memory now.

"Hey," she said, turning over to stare at George. "What are you – we – doing here? And why is my head hurting?"

It was usually best to simply ask, after all.

He blinked, looking somewhat bleary himself. "The punch was spiked," he said, in a tone that seemed to say he had told her so before and she'd forgotten. Well. How silly of her.

"Oh," she said faintly. That phrase had entirely too many possibilities behind it.

"I didn't do anything… too terribly humiliating… did I?" she asked hesitantly. Hermione had never _had_ alcohol before, excepting the very, very small amount in The Three Broomsticks' butterbeer. And seeing as she remembered very little, Murphy's Law would insist that she had repressed the experience voluntarily, out of embarrassment.

George took a while in responding, which only compounded her worries. But – "No," he said. "No, not really. Laughed a little. Cried a little. A lot like Fred does, actually."

The vision of George watching her cry over something stupid did not make her feel particularly better.

"Oh God," she muttered, holding her head with one hand. "I hope no one else saw."

George chuckled, and she found that his hair was in horrible disarray, as was his dress shirt and tie. What was more disturbing, the thought crossed her mind that he looked rather handsome as such.

_The alcohol,_ she determined. _I still have some in me._

"I think everyone else was too tanked to care much about you," he said. "Poor Harry… he was hanging over the toilet two hours. Guess it'll put him off going out drinking once he's older, hey?"

Hermione squinted at him suspiciously. "So how come _you're_ not looking hung over?"

George shrugged, but even in her current state, she thought he was looking a little _too_ innocent. "I didn't drink any of the punch," he said. "Hate the stuff, actually."

In_deed_.

"I'm actually curious to see who shows up for breakfast," he said with a twitching grin. "Wouldn't it be great if Snape had some…"

"He'll have brewed a counter-agent, I'd expect," Hermione sniffed, swaying a little as she got to her feet. Hm. Her shoes had gone missing.

"You'd expect," George agreed. "But that stuff does take a little while to mature. And if there happens to be absolutely none on hand…"

Hermione continued to stare at him suspiciously.

"Just saying," he told her. "You never know."

She sighed, deciding she really didn't care at the moment. "Lord, I must look _terrible_," she muttered, stumbling over to the bathroom door.

There was silence behind her. It only intensified the queasy feeling in her stomach. Or, actually, that might have just been the hangover.

Hermione found to her dismay that her vision was still somewhat blurry. Still, her hair had, against all odds, stayed mostly in its bun – a few stray hairs had escaped, and started to curl back into their original shape, but Parvati had been right – Sleakeasy's was a hell of a hair gel.

Her eyes, of course, had great big shadows beneath them. And her dress robes were, alas, quite wrinkled.

Sighing, she turned to stumble up the stairs, only to find George staring at her a little strangely.

"_What?_" she snapped. "It's not _that_ bad-"

"No," he said quickly. "No, it's not. It's just… weird. You look different, with your hair all up, and uh…" He seemed to be searching for a fitting word. Perhaps the morning was making him come up short.

"Not frizzy?" she supplied, her mouth quirking a little. "Don't worry. It'll be back to plain Hermione Jane in no time." It was a bad joke, even for her. Then again, she really wasn't feeling very witty this morning.

She turned to go up the stairs, leaning a little heavily on the rail as she did so.

"Er – hey!" he said quickly. "Your – uh – shoes–"

Hermione paused, sighed, and trudged back down to the couch to pick up the shoes where they were set neatly by the end. So that's where they'd gone.

Her feet were horribly cold on the floor, and her body was already drowsing at the wonderful thought of a warm, heavy comforter. Not to mention the perfect darkness that would result from sticking her head under the covers.

Despite this she paused once more, to turn around and look down at George.

"Um," she said, her cheeks coloring somewhat. "Thank you, by the way."

He shifted on his feet, and stuck his hands into his pockets. "No problem. You're a relatively calm drunk anyhow."

Hermione had the distinctive feeling that he was lying to make her feel better – Murphy was insisting it, in the back of her head. But she accepted it anyway, and even managed something of a smile as she slipped into her shared room.

"_God_," came a moan from one of the beds. "Close the bloody door!"

Ah. Lavender had had some punch as well, it seemed.

000000

Upon her second waking, at about eight – when Hermione realized she _still_ had done nothing about her clothes, hair, or makeup – she remembered that one present had yet to be delivered.

With a scramble out of bed and a hasty change into her robes, she went scuttling out the door, ignoring the half-alive moans from her two roommates.

She was simultaneously hopping and attempting to pull on a shoe when she discovered she was missing a sock and a sweater.

Ah. Oh well.

Feeling each step acutely in her pounding head, she skidded around a corner into the wall on the other side, murmuring the password hurriedly so that she might step through instead of hitting it.

Hermione found to her immediate dismay that the spell on the wall had not worked.

She squeezed her eyes shut as impact occurred, but realized as she did so that the wall she had run into was actually a bit softer than a wall, and a lot warmer than most walls came. In fact, this wall had arms and was trying to hold her up through some slippery bit of material. Somehow, the wall was moving backward, and letting out some kind of curse.

_Now Hermione,_ her brain said. _You may be slightly hung-over, but this is one you should be able to figure out._

Yes indeed. The wall was a person, in an invisibility cloak, with a hand on either of her upper arms. And, presently, the invisibility cloak slithered to the floor as well, though it was hard to tell in the darkness of the room behind the somewhat-real wall.

"You know," Sirius said with a tired sigh, "We really ought to stop bumping into each other like this."

Hermione agreed, but found her head was really hurting quite a bit too much to say so.

But his hands were warm, and his fingers felt oddly comforting digging into her skin, and all she seemed able to think was: _Well **obviously** not a wall._

"Er – Hermione?"

"…don't know why I got out of bed…" she mumbled.

Sirius laughed. And despite the fact that she could very clearly remember being angry at him, and for half-good reasons that they really ought to have straightened out, it made her warm up from the inside out and… and want to do something very socially unacceptable. Yes.

His laughter stopped as she suddenly threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest.

"I – I'm sorry," she said. And even though she didn't really mean it – she really did.

Sirius, though thoroughly bewildered, had the sense to hug her back.

It was a few awkward moments before he cleared his throat. "Er… well…"

Hermione blinked, then felt the unease penetrate. Slowly, she began to disentangle herself to retreat to a more acceptable distance.

Oddly, his grip on her only tightened. Confused, she looked up at him, forgetting that she couldn't see his face.

"I might be to blame as well," he said, his voice sounding strange. "Or – no. I am. I'm sorry too."

It was not, by any means, something she had expected to hear from him. Ever, really.

_Perhaps,_ she thought, _I ought to step back at this point. Maybe._

Her body wasn't listening. Presently, she decided to blame this on the hangover as well.

"In any case," he said, his grip not slackened in the least, "I wanted to say… it's…"

Distantly, Hermione remembered that she hated when people couldn't finish sentences. A fancy struck her to finish for him, just to say something, but it was luckily suppressed.

"I understand you're doing… things. And I don't really know what… things. But if it comes down to it…" _Inarticulate_, she thought. _That's the word for this. But it's not the word I would associate with him._

"…if it comes down to it, you need to think of yourself too," he said finally, sounding slightly frightened at himself, with a tinge of almost-desperate. "Because you matter too, you know? And it's just no good living entirely for other people."

Hermione felt the strange little chatterings in her mind disappear. _Dumbledore_, she thought. _He talked to him, what did he say-_

She didn't ask. She wanted so dearly to ask, but she couldn't, or it would be tantamount to saying she didn't trust to tell him things herself. Which was true. It was true of _everyone_. But she _didn't_ want to _say it_.

"I think that's all," he said suddenly, letting her go.

Hermione stumbled her way to the couch in the dark, and sat down heavily.

"All right," she said faintly. "All right."

Another uncomfortable silence passed, and she felt him lean on the back of the couch with his hand.

_I don't understand._

_But I don't understand most of what I'm doing lately. Perhaps I ought to just play this by ear as well._

"I got you a present," she said, blinking.

…_or not._

The slight sound of surprise from behind her told her she'd caught them both off guard. "Er… really. I hadn't thought of it."

Hermione's fingers closed on the silver ring in an awkward way, and she nodded, remembering again too late that they were completely in the dark.

"Oh – here, I'll-" She fumbled for her wand, trying to remember which pocket she'd put it in. Before she could get it out, though, there was a murmur from behind her, and the room lit up.

"Ow," Hermione said with a blink, covering her eyes.

"Too bright?" he asked as he came around the corner of the couch, sounding puzzled. "It's just the fire-"

"_Ow_," she reiterated, more for her own benefit than his. Her head was beginning to pound even more than it had been. It was times like this that she wondered why the human hand wasn't formed to perfectly shut out light from the eyes. Inevitably, some always got through, and it was annoying and (currently) _painful_.

Sirius had stopped in front of her, and she had the feeling he was examining her curiously.

She dropped her hand for the sole purpose of frowning at him.

He dropped his wand.

"What did you – you're-" He broke off bewilderedly as she struggled to sit up against the arm of the couch.

After a moment of blatant staring (unnoticed, on her part) Sirius seemed to regain his sense of self long enough to rub at his temples.

Shortly, Hermione realized he was being completely silent, and she looked up at him with an annoyed face. "What?"

Sirius blinked. "Nothing," he said, lying quite boldly.

"Now look _here_," Hermione said crossly, narrowing her eyes. "I'm not _stupid_, and if there's a bug in my hair or something, I would really like to know sooner rather than later-"

"Your hair's up," he said carefully, in what might have been an evasive voice.

"_So?_" Hermione demanded. "I wear my hair up sometimes."

_So I'm not looking perfect! _she thought with gritted teeth. _I went to sleep drunk in a dress robe! He's done the exact same thing, knowing him – and voluntarily, I'd bet!_

"It looks different!" he defended, brushing some imaginary speck off himself and picking back up his wand. "You've got – and there's-"

"Makeup?" she asked. "Smeared? Yes, that's what generally happens when you go to sleep in it." She shielded her eyes against the fire again, wincing. "Does that stupid thing have to be so _bright?_"

Sirius looked blankly behind him, as though just realizing the fire was there. Oh, for god's sake, he'd just lit the thing himself-

He swished his wand, and it dimmed somewhat. Just enough to lower the pounding in her head from apocalyptic to earthquake-sized.

"You look… pale," he said suddenly. "Have you been eating enough?"

Hermione let her hand curl around her head. "Yes," she said, feeling a slight blush creep up her cheeks. "I'm eating perfectly fine, thank you." She wasn't, actually, but her paleness probably had more to do with the blatant drumming at her temples.

"Er… did you get enough sleep, then? I thought I saw shadows under-"

"Fine," she said. "I'm _fine._ All my biological systems are normal, hale, and healthy."

His mouth quirked downward. "Except your head?"

Hermione swallowed. Her mouth had been dry all morning, she suddenly realized.

"Yes," she said. "I've a headache. Now – now stop talking, all right?" As long as it had been since she'd really talked to him (and, all right, heard his voice, which she had apparently been missing to some extent) every word he spoke seemed to be thudding into her head. Like a jackhammer sometimes thudded.

To be fair, everything _she_ said was doing the exact same thing, except with a bigger jackhammer.

Sirius' eyebrows shot upward.

"You got _drunk?_" he asked. There was a slight emphasis on the 'you', which she didn't entirely like.

Now why did he sound so surprised? It wasn't as though she weren't perfectly capable of going and finding some firewhisky on her own…

Well. Yes, all right. It wasn't _likely._ But it was entirely possible.

"Someone spiked the punch," Hermione said, groaning.

He sat down on the floor now, still looking slightly shell-shocked and rubbing at his temples. "How badly?" he asked. "You remember everything, or did you black out?"

Hermione made a face. "Blacked out," she confirmed. "Although George tells me I didn't get into any trouble. Rather nice of him to stick around and make sure… but now I've got another gaping hole in my memory. My brain probably looks like Swiss cheese."

He twitched slightly at this, and she caught a guilty expression before it had the chance to disappear. "I'm not accusing you or anything," she added, though of course, this brought back memories of every _other_ argument they'd had that never got resolved.

Before there could be another awkward pause, though, she swallowed dryly again and picked up the small bundle she'd rushed through the hallways with. "Now before I forget," she told him. "Here."

She thrust the package at him, and he blinked at her a bit.

"It's not socks, is it?" he asked, a wry tilt to his mouth.

"What?" Hermione asked, feeling just a _little_ vengeful still. "Do… do you not _like_ socks?"

Alas, her acting seemed lacking, because he shot her a dry smile before taking the package from her.

It had never struck her before that adults opened their presents differently than children did. As Sirius tore into the paper with a healthy fervor, though, she remembered that her own parents liked to carefully pull out the taped parts so that the wrapping paper was still pristine at the end, folded into a little square.

A strange vindication arose in her at the sight of Sirius doing something so absolutely _different_ than expected. She wasn't entirely sure why.

"Aha," he said with a small grin. "I see red and gold. You've obviously got flawless taste."

Hermione smiled, feeling something in her chest swell just a little bit.

"Hm," he said, pulling the scarf from its wrapping and looking just the slightest bit nostalgic. "Hm."

"It's not just a scarf," she said quietly, suddenly feeling a little silly. "It lengthens into a very normal coat. Um – should you need one."

_Should you leave again._

She wasn't sure whether the words were really hanging unsaid in the air or whether he'd completely missed them.

But really… it was a completely selfish present. Because it seemed she'd worried a lot over whether he'd taken something warmer than the invisibility cloak with him last time, and she didn't _want_ to worry again. It was _entirely_ selfish, and she wanted him warm.

"Bah," he said, now grinning widely. "Leave it to you to pick out something useful too. I'd have been perfectly happy with the scarf."

And somehow, she knew he would have. But he was still smiling like that _now_, so it didn't make a bit of difference.

Sirius, being the uncompromising… well, whatever he was, immediately swung the scarf over and around his neck, even though the room was a perfectly good temperature.

"Indeed," he said, mockingly solemn. "Red and gold are _still_ my colors."

_Yes,_ Hermione thought suddenly. _Yes they are. And I really wish that everyone else could know it too._

But that was something even she couldn't do, regardless of which holiday it was.

"Well," he said, standing up. "I think this present deserves a little more than some worn-out jewelry." Hermione immediately grew suspicious. "So – I'll give you your coming-of-age lesson!" His grin grew even wider. "How to survive your first hangover."

Was that a _proud_ expression on his face?

"Rule one," he said, taking the space between them with two quick steps and sweeping her legs off the floor to put her lengthwise on the couch. "Be lazy. Utterly, unapologetically lazy. And, for future reference, skip class if at all possible."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest that one, but he continued without pause. "Rule two – be lazy _with lots of water_. We can fix that one fairly quick." He grabbed a glass from one of the shelves and handed it to her. Hermione moved for her own wand, but found, to her annoyance, that he had whisked it away first. The glass was full a moment later.

"I could have done that," she muttered, feeling somehow simultaneously pampered, useless, and relieved.

"Actually," he said, "that would violate Rule One. There's a _reason _for it, you know. If the Muggles won't trust you in a _car_ drunk, imagine what it would be like to use a _wand_."

("Did I just hear you say something _responsible?_" Hermione asked. Or, actually, wanted to ask. But she'd been brought up better than that, and even a hangover was no excuse for being impolite.)

"Rule three," he said. "Have a banana."

Hermione wondered for a moment whether he was beginning to pull rules out of thin air for lack of any useful tips and the need to have more than two rules. She ignored the thought, which made her head spin a little, and instead took a long drink of the water.

"Hm. Well, I'll find one somewhere," he muttered to himself, scratching at his chin. Then – "Rule four – stay under your blanket as long as possible. And share the misery with everyone else in the room."

Hermione frowned. "Firstly – isn't that _two_ rules? And secondly – if I'm stupid enough to get myself drunk, I am most certainly not bothering the rest of my poor dorm mates with it."

Sirius shrugged. "That one might not have been a rule. Actually, it was a personal preference, probably."

Hermione wanted to say something acidic, but it got lost in her head as a very warm, very fluffy blanket hit her in the face.

"Oh all right," she allowed, not really feeling an ounce of willingness to move anyway. "Ugh. I'm going to need a shower very badly."

"Look on the bright side," Sirius told her cheerfully as he gathered up the invisibility cloak again. "At least you smell like punch and not like firewhisky."

Hermione blinked, losing the last bit of it as she unfurled the blanket a bit and settled into it. Actually, she was beginning to very much like rule number one. Not that she would ever admit anything of the sort.

"Hm," she muttered, drifting a bit. Then – "Did he just leave to get a banana?"

Indeed, it seemed he had.


	23. Event Horizon

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

Yeah… school + role-playing no more life. I highly recommend the latter and officially despise the former (but you all knew that already). And, in my defense, role-playing has given me lots and lots of writing practice. So here we go… turning point.

**Chapter 22 – Event Horizon**

"There is a point at which everything becomes simple and there is no longer any question of choice, because all you have staked will be lost if you look back. Life's point of no return."

**-Dag Hammarskjold**

_She stares out of her glass prison, watching and waiting oh-so-patiently as she is buried again…_

_And it **turns**, again, with memory-_

"_I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, why won't you **look at me**-!"_

_Right outside, they're both just outside, and her fingers smear on the glass, leaving fingerprints that only fade moments later…_

"_You don't have to be alone… I don't want you to be…" Begging. Half in this place, half in that one, and **another** half, one that shouldn't exist, in the past that never was, except in memory. Memory. It's all to do with memories._

_She almost imagines he looks up, at her voice, from the tear-stained letter. But time and memories are funny things, and there's no way he can possibly hear her in there. Because… because…_

Hermione woke up again without ever realizing she'd fallen asleep. The room had been darkened, the fire dimmed to almost nothing, but her eyes were well-adjusted to the dark by the time she opened them. Shadows were playing on the walls, in the dim silence, and-

There was a banana on the table by the couch.

She stared at it for a moment, thoroughly perplexed in that state between waking and dreaming – and began to laugh.

Sirius obviously wasn't in the room, or he would have asked her if she'd gone crazy in her sleep.

This was entirely possible. Because she would wake up these days with the sneaking suspicion that something had _changed_ in her, in her sleep, or she had remembered something, or things had been clearer, like glass – but everything would be gone by the time she woke. It was very possible she was going insane. She had wondered whether she was before, of course, but the question was really _could you go insane without remembering it-_

Hermione shook her head, pressing her palms to her forehead. She was thirsty. This could wait, probably. It really had to.

She picked up the banana, and peeled it slowly. It was surprisingly good. She hadn't eaten something just to eat it in so long, rushing back and forth to classes… she supposed all bananas at the table were this good, and she just hadn't ever taken the time to taste them.

_Time._

Her fingers were worrying at the ring again.

_Time is flexible,_ her reading had told her. _It can stretch, sometimes, to accommodate, but it's of an elastic nature. Always, it snaps back. And then, there's the smack on the hand, the recoil on the person who tried to pull the rubber band too far…_

This was a sensible theory, wasn't it? There were… some things. Things she could swear had gone differently, if she listened to those voices (which could be insane, but she had to assume she wasn't, because that's just how you stay functional…)

She took a drink of water, staring at the fire.

This theory was one of many. It was all theoretical, of course, being a _theory_.

But… if it was true…

_When will it all snap back? And what does that entail, and will it just **undo** everything? What if it kills me?_

It wasn't a popular theory. It had been hard to find, in one of those periodical magazine issues, but she had to believe the other her had found it. Had she discredited it somehow? Or was there a way out, a loophole she had to find? Or, worse yet, had she not had the _time_ to thoroughly research, had she missed it…

Too many possibilities, and her head still hurt.

Footsteps sounded behind her – quiet, padding on the stone. She knew it was Sirius in that strange way people sometimes do, when someone familiar enters the room. Of course, that could have merely been because he was the only other likely person to come in here.

"Feeling better?" he asked, careful to keep his voice soft.

"…yes. The banana helped, probably." She smiled down at her hands a little weakly. The glint of silver, on her thumb… "No," she said suddenly, the smile dropping. "I'm not really feeling better, actually. I feel… confused. I don't know what's going on anymore, from moment to moment…"

A pause. He'd probably not expected her to tell the truth. No one ever expects that _anyone_ will tell the truth, when asked 'how are you' or 'how was your day' or 'are you feeling better'. And since she'd been keeping everything from him, it only seemed appropriate he would expect another 'fine – I'm fine'.

And then…

His fingers were in her hair. Threading through it from behind. Warm, and she wanted… Hermione leaned back into them, closing her eyes. The pounding inside her head was lessening, and growing at the same time.

"Anything I can do?"

This was good. Very good. _Too good._

There was a little voice in her head, what was left of the normal, sensible, bookworm Hermione who was _not_ insane, and it was calmly telling her that this was getting dangerous. Why wasn't she concerned, already? She liked this too much, and it was just his fingers in her hair. He probably had no _idea_ what she was thinking of right now.

_What am I thinking of?_

It was another of those very confusing thoughts she'd been having, lately. Usually, she could pick apart her own mind, and her inclinations, and say very definitively _this is what I want, and why._ Possible courses of action would follow, with given consequences and risk factors. Very nice, perfect numbers. She'd pick one very logically. The life of Hermione Granger would follow.

But her heart was beating a little fast, and her breath wanted to speed up, and she couldn't find the reasoning behind it this time.

His fingers disengaged, and as they did, she threw the entire situation out of her head with a mental cry of distress. It could wait. For… some other time. Sometime.

"Here – take this." He'd come around the side of the couch – there was a little vial of golden liquid in his hand.

Hermione looked at it for a moment, hesitating. He'd given her this exact potion before, probably. She'd never found out exactly what it was, and she prided herself on good knowledge of _everything_ academic (at least a year ahead of the school curriculum, maybe more).

"You can drink it later at dinner," he shrugged, pressing it into her hand. It was warm, against her skin. "It'll probably work better with some food."

She blinked at him, trying to straighten out her thoughts. His hand had brushed hers, for a moment, and… no. You won't think about that. Not now.

"…thank you."

He smiled, one half of his mouth lifting a little. "Well. What would you do without me to force you to take care of yourself?"

Oh. Her face was flushing.

"Keel over dead?" she offered, hesitantly.

He chuckled, eyes watching her – there was that darkness in them again, though, and she decided that maybe her choice of words hadn't been perfect, all things considered.

"Go ahead and get some more sleep," Sirius said, one hand coming up to rub at his forehead. He looked very tired, she noted suddenly. Maybe he hadn't been sleeping. It would be just like her not to notice that, in the middle of everything else.

"All right…" she managed. No, clear that tremor out of your voice. "-you too. I mean, at some point."

Rest in peace, articulation.

He smiled at her again, one hand in his pocket, and the strangest thought floated to the top of her mind.

_He's here. Right here. I could touch him._

Hermione's fingers moved, in her lap, but she withheld the impulse for some mysterious reason, known only to the little irrational moral voice in her head.

Instead, she set the potion very carefully down by the couch, and leaned her head back into the pillow, turning on her side beneath the blankets.

"_It's all right, Hermione. I promise you, everything will be all right. Even if it's not…"_

At some point, halfway between sleep and something else, there were fingers in her hair again.

000000

When she woke up again, after what seemed only a very short time, he was gone.

She panicked for a moment, her mind finally working almost properly. It told her she should have been thinking about things like _what time is it_ and _did I miss dinner_ and _did anyone notice?_

Hermione slipped out from underneath the warm covers, reluctantly, calming herself down. He would have woken her up, before it got to that point. Hopefully.

With a belated look at her clothes – her school robes, sans a sock and a sweater, still – she picked her wand up from the table and tried to make herself at least presentable.

By the time she'd smoothed out the wrinkles, pulled off the makeup, and coaxed most of Sleakeasy's special formula from her hair, she was feeling more than a little more like Hermione again.

"Right. Library."

Because that was what Hermione would do.

She smiled to herself, ignoring the little nagging un-Hermioneish thoughts about staying just a _little_ bit longer.

The time, she discovered on her way, was a lot less late than it seemed. She had… suspicions about this, but finding Sirius to ask him about them was unappealing (or too appealing, as it were – there wasn't a difference, in this case).

Madam Pince looked up as she entered, then looked down again. Hermione Granger and the library, it was well known, were having a sordid love affair. No surprise there.

Hermione blinked, frowning – had she _really_ had that thought? She'd been hanging around boys for far too long. No, that wouldn't happen again.

She didn't have her pass to the Restricted Section with her, but Pince had seen it at least ten times by now already. The thing was going to be worn to illegibility soon. Her fingers drew along the spines of the books as she went, without quite touching them. There were books in here that were dangerous enough without being opened, after all.

The fingers stopped on a certain title, a ragged, titleless green monstrosity she'd been working through for a while. You weren't allowed to take Restricted books out, naturally. And the language in this one was particularly difficult, though she'd begun to pick it up more quickly.

A sudden shiver went through her, for no particular reason she could decipher. Another of those unmeasurable things that came from nowhere.

She stepped back, eyes on the book.

And… dinner was sounding good, suddenly.

She turned around, especially aware of the faint heat against her heart. A clink of glass, as the timeturner brushed against the golden potion.

Madam Pince did not look up at all, as she left.

000000

Things were progressing today in a very strange manner. She wasn't sure why. Time was… acting strangely. It had to be time. Her perceptions couldn't be _that_ off, could they?

For example, she could swear- sleeping had felt like hours, compressed into minutes. And now, eating at the dinner table with Harry and Ron, it felt like minutes drawn over hours.

Something in her was protesting this obvious illogicality. Time did not speed up or slow down on its own. Timeturners did that.

"Hermione?"

She looked up at the voice. Harry.

"Yes, Harry?" Playing with her food, with the tip of her fork.

"…nothing." He shook his head, going back to his own plate.

There was a strange distillation in the air. She couldn't be the only one feeling it, could she? This pressure, in her head…

She frowned, and got to her feet, feeling the heat and pressure of the timeturner and the potion against her chest. "I think I'll go back early. I'm feeling… strange."

Ron nodded, but said nothing – the roll in his mouth rather hampered his ability to speak.

Hermione stopped outside the doors of the Great Hall, pulling the potion and uncorking it. The last time, it had cleared her head – made things suddenly clearer, and less tired. Maybe it would help with this sudden feeling of uneasiness.

Footsteps – then –

"Miss _Granger!"_

She blinked, the vial slipping. A hurried rush for it managed to keep it from crashing to the floor, but her heart was suddenly beating a mile a minute, and the world was speeding up again…

McGonagall, in front of her, a thoroughly shocked expression on her face. "That _cannot_ be what I think it is!"

Hermione blinked at her, feeling her heart thudding sickeningly in her chest. "What- what do you think it is?" she managed, leaning against the wall. _Thud, thud, thud-_

McGonagall's fingers pried the vial from hers – her mouth was set in a deep scowl, but Hermione could tell she was already trying to rationalize whatever this was. Because there were some things Hermione Granger simply did not do, and this was apparently one of them.

"This potion," she said slowly, looking down at it, "is by all appearances a minor Dark Arts formula. It requires blood, Miss Granger."

The thudding of her heart stopped. Her eyes widened.

_He couldn't – he wouldn't possibly-_

"I have a very good eye for it," McGonagall said grimly. "I have seen it in use before. Now, I cannot believe you would make something like this yourself, Miss Granger. Who gave it to you?"

Hermione swallowed. This was bad. He'd put her in a terribly tight position, here, why hadn't he warned her to keep it hidden, and she _wouldn't believe_ it was what it seemed.

"Please, Professor, I… I can't tell you. But I know he wouldn't do something immoral on my account…" _Would._ _Has._ "I can't think this would be what it seems."

McGonagall watched her with hawk-like eyes. Weighing. "I can only think of one person close enough to you with the knowledge of how to brew something like this. It is possible, I suppose, that it was done while he was in Bulgaria, where it is not on the edge of legality."

…_Krum?_

Hermione held her mouth shut. She wanted to say 'no, he didn't do this', but who else was there? Her insides clenched, nervous. She couldn't let him get in trouble. If it came down to it, she would have to claim responsibility for it herself.

"In which case… perhaps I shall have to-"

A breath in time. Frozen. Hermione felt her heart stop again, but this time it was – strange – real –

More footsteps, and the unmistakable swish of a long robe.

Time started up again, and McGonagall's eyes narrowed behind her glasses. She thrust the potion at Hermione, with the clear message of 'hide that dratted thing!'. "Take that. But you _will not_, I make myself clear – you _will not_ accept another. No matter how tired you get. I will take the timeturner from you myself before that happens."

Hermione stared at her, quailing inwardly, as she disappeared down the hall. Snape's footsteps, ironically, turned at another corner, and disappeared.

Only two days ago, perhaps, she would have gone searching for answers. Demanded the truth.

Today, she drank the entire potion, and waited to feel better.

000000

_There – fingers, on a worn green spine-_

"_There's a better word for it. Two, actually."_

_But only if you're a muggleborn, a mudblood, you would know…_

_And he was looking up at her and he was _looking at her watching her, _unmistakable, impossible-_

"Why did you do this to me?" _Yelled.__Scattered glass, and sand pouring _everywhere…

Hermione stumbled from her bed, clutching at her head. She was Hermione. She was very Hermione. She needed to go to the library _now._

No one stopped her, as she pushed out of the dorm room, but she wasn't sure whether this was them asleep or them not there because she really wasn't sure what time it was at _all_ anymore.

The timeturner, hot against her chest. And energy, stolen, not-hers, pumping through her body. Blood.

There was no Pince behind the desk – it was probably night, _probably_, or lunch. It could be lunch.

Hermione felt herself gasping, the burning glass of the timeturner against her fingers. Her head felt pressurized, and expanded, all at once.

"What's going on," she whimpered, the other hand leaning her on the shelf (had she put it there?). Her breath wasn't coming right. The world was spinning, but she was somehow _certain_ it wasn't just her. It was the _world_. It was _spinning._

Her knees hit something, as her fingers scrabbled blindly for the book. "Tell me something," she begged it. "Tell me what I'm _doing_."

The words revealed themselves so easily, so suddenly, that she felt her head pound harder. This was crazy, in every sense of the word.

"God. God-"

There were things, flashing on the inside of her eyelids, every time she blinked.

_Black hair, eleven, sitting alone in his red and gold colors-_

Between the lines she read.

_Incredulous screams, his winces, his eyes were young and she wanted to _do something-

Runes. Letters. They were the same, for some reason.

_Letters, torn to little tiny pieces, and thrown into the fire, his breaths ragged._

"And this," she read, eyes wide. "This is the final limit, the threshold from which things unravel."

_Glint, silver, on his sixteen year old finger._ _Most honored House of Black._

"-the terminal point, from which no human can escape, as events begin to bend-"

'_Toujours Pur.'_

Two words. Only she would know this. Only she could compare it. The rubber band, snapping back, and like a black hole, there was that impossible speed beyond light that no one could achieve to escape.

_Look up, look up, look up- he does, he looks straight at her, for just a moment, and it's _not her imagination.

Event horizon.

"_We're going to break it. Hold on tight."_


	24. Zero Hour

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

Now. Obviously, that last chapter is going to have left a whole lot of questions. This is the beginning of the resolution of those questions. From here on out, you're going to understand a little more every chapter. This one is a transition, and it's worth a warning – this story is about to get a _whole_ lot darker.

This chapter in particular will also show just what the hell was going through Sirius' head through a few of those things.

Last but not least – this update can be considered an extension of the last, if you like. It may be a while before I get out another chapter, but this is short for stylistic reasons, and not because I plan to make them all like this.

**Donahermurphy:** Of course, I would tell you if you were on the wrong track. Would I _lie?_ Ah – would I abridge the truth, actually? No, don't answer that. For what it's worth, you're always way too perceptive on most things.

**Riptiderobin:** Woe! I think I missed that email! My spam filter is a little too efficient, sometimes…

**Jewelsong:** The last chapter was part resolution of foreshadowing and part an attempt to explain some things very vaguely. It'll make more sense as we go on from here.

Everyone else who reviewed: I love you. Really. I read every single one, I _promise._

**Chapter 23 – Zero Hour**

"God abhors a naked singularity."  
**-Stephen Hawking**

At the end of the dark, there was a moment of perfect clarity.

It came of frozen time, she knew. Or time so slow as to be negligible.

The rubber band was reaching its limit, and here she was, and _there she was_, and _there she was_, and sand, all over the place. Glittering gold, like the timeturner and the potion coursing through her veins, somewhere out in reality.

_Somewhere else,_ she thought, drawing a toe through the sand. There was an endless sky, overhead, in yellow-gold tinges that reflected infinitely into nothing.

"Welcome to the crossroad," said her voice. She hadn't spoken.

Hermione looked up, hair long and frazzled and tangled in her eyes – and saw a possibility.

000000

Sirius Black was a naturally suspicious person. He was almost obliged to be, after the countless betrayals, secrets, cover-ups, and attempts to incarcerate he'd been through.

But this went beyond paranoia, or gut feelings, or intuition. There was something very, very wrong, and it all had to do with Hermione.

For god's sake, he wasn't _stupid._ There were strange things going on, even taking magic into account. She was – she would – she'd be _there_ one minute, then gone the next. Not physically. But there was a definite difference between… how the hell could you _explain_ it? He almost felt, sometimes, that there was more than one of her, each equally _Hermione_, and that one would be there, then another, then some screwed up mixture of both.

And… the things she murmured, in her sleep…

Things about Harry. About him. George Weasley. _All in past tense._

Really, noticing that her dot on the map had started to flicker frenetically in and out of existence… that had just been extraneous, at the point he discovered it. But no less troubling. Not at all.

So – when she was laying there – while he was watching, feeling that strange, overwhelming fear and _helplessness_…

"Sorrysorrysorry- very sorry, Sirius-" Whimpered in her sleep.

That. That had been her, twisting strangely beneath the blanket. Looking like that separate Hermione, spliced with _Hermione_, and maybe neither actually knew what the hell she was saying.

_Rutilus_ _Vita_, the potion was called. "Golden Life". Deceptively pleasant sounding, almost mythical. His family had taught him only one way to make it – with blood, and life, and someone else's vitality. The Order of the Phoenix had taken that recipe and twisted it, desperately; the members in inaction would give of themselves, make the potion on their own, and supply their energy to the people who needed it more. It was by no means a pleasant process. Or, for that matter, an entirely safe one.

He'd given more than he should've this time, probably. In the revised, toned down version the Order had used, you only used up almost all your stored energy – equivalent to a series of very late nights. But Blacks never did anything half-assed. This one had probably actually taken some time off his life.

He decided to attribute this to his typical lack of self-preservation instinct, instead of the rather more frightening alternative. It was a very hard thing to lie to himself about, when he was sitting there watching her dream twisted things in her sleep not five minutes after healing the neat puncture in his arm.

She woke up looking at him confusedly. Like he shouldn't have been there. Or perhaps like _she_ shouldn't have been.

It came together for him, all at once – the thing he had been dreading, the thought behind his madness that had been carefully suppressed and halfway ignored for the sake of Dumbledore and secrets and _Harry_. Hermione Granger was being broken apart in front of him. Systematically. Inevitably.

And he had the most terrible urge to do… something. Anything.

But most of all, he just wanted to _touch_ her and make sure she was _there_.

"I don't know what's going on anymore," she'd admitted, that carefully controlled look of panic in her eyes. Hermione always did everything in a controlled manner. Even panicking. _Moment to moment to moment…_ it echoed in his head, almost ominously.

And before he could stop himself, he was dragging his fingers through her hair, and reassuring them both that she was still there, and still… her, in some way.

He realized vaguely as he did so that he'd always wanted to do this, in some dark corner of his mind. Just to see what it was like. It was strange to think that he might have spent some part of his brain wondering whether her hair would be soft or coarse or tangled as it looked, at some time. Probably, it was one of those cold nights in a cave, beneath an invisibility cloak. As it turned out, it was just right for his fingers to slip through.

And she leaned back into it, eyes closed, and he could almost taste the way she was trying to collect, on his tongue. Picking up bits and pieces of herself and holding them up for examination. _Is this one me? I don't know. I can't tell, anymore._

That scared him _more._

So he ignored his own little panicking voice, in the back of his head – _What the hell are you doing, you're – you're really crazy._ And he stayed, and kept sliding his fingers through her hair, because he really couldn't do anything else at all.

She wasn't dying, per se. But she might as well have been. She was slowly disappearing, and he was watching it.

It was wrong. _Wrong_, in that deep, gut-wrenching, disgusting way his family had been. The house. The elf. The heads, on the walls.

And in that same line of disturbing thoughts had come another: _Even for Harry, this is wrong._

He justified it to himself later by thinking that Harry wouldn't have wanted it this way.

And as the dot named Hermione Granger flickered in front of him, he looked down at the timeturner and had the most violent thoughts since… since… Peter. He still had to catch Peter. But he half-pitied Peter, even now, whereas this _thing_, this incarnation of inevitable time she didn't have, he loathed with a palpable hatred. It inspired lead weights, in his stomach, and knots in his throat. He wanted to shatter it to pieces, again and again.

But who knew what _that_ would do to her?

It was an innocent, glittering gold, wound about her neck. As innocent as the potion, as innocent as its name. But it was even more insidious, and he knew somehow that it had a hold on her. He could almost see the hand around her heart – faceless, with no personality or person behind it. No conscience, or even malicious intent. It just _was_, and it _did._

Dumbledore was going to stop this. He would. He couldn't sidestep this anymore, not with protests for 'the greater good' or 'she _wants_ to, Sirius'. Not even 'for Harry'.

He left her to her delirious murmurings, the echoes of her apologies in his mind.

000000

Madam Pince did not look up, as Hermione Granger exited the library. She didn't have any Restricted books with her on her way out, and that was really all she needed to know.

"_Who are you?"_

Harry was in the commonroom, playing chess with himself, when the footsteps entered. He looked up, suddenly feeling that he should. It wasn't who he thought it would be.

"…_I don't know I'm sure, anymore. You keep confusing me."_

"You should be working on your egg, Harry."

Hermione smiled, but her eyes were dull.


	25. House of Honor

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

For those who haven't happened to glance at the theories of Quantum Physics and such, here's the low down as I understand it. Anyone able to correct me, you may do so. _(EDIT: Aha._ _Cookies to **Aranel** **Abeille**, for catching that mistake right off the bat. I was thinking volume and writing 'mass'. I might still be wrong about that…)_

The speed of light is the fastest possible speed, so far as we know. This is because photons have no mass, or so _little_ mass as to be the things with the least mass in the universe. Einstein therefore theorized that nothing could exceed the speed of light. Humans especially.

This is relevant when applied to a black hole. The reason a black hole is _black_ is because its density is so incredible that its gravity pulls light into it and doesn't allow it to escape. Even the speed of light is insufficient to make it past its gravitational field, once it is caught inside – this catching point, where you can't escape again, is the black hole's event horizon. Since the speed of light is the _fastest_ speed, it follows that absolutely _nothing_ can escape a black hole once it's hit the event horizon.

Scientists believe that the basic laws of physics break down inside a black hole because of this unique state of incredible gravity. It's believed that time slows to the point of nearly stopping inside – this phenomenon is generally called a singularity, a point of infinite density and infinite mass. The idea can't be proven, however, because no emissions escape the black hole. There's nothing to measure to prove it. Whereas going inside the event horizon would not only be suicide, it would also stop time for you, and distort perception.

Stephen Hawking is famous for describing this – "God abhors a naked singularity", he said. A black hole is unforgiving by nature, and unmeasurable – it therefore clothes the singularity. The theory, if it's entirely correct, can never be proven.

What does this have to do with time travel, you ask? It's been said that if you exceeded the speed of light, you could move back in time. If the theory is correct, then both are totally impossible.

To be fair, this theory's been argued about a _lot_. And the quote, because of agitation, has since been changed to "Nature abhors a naked singularity". But this is the theory I'm using for this particular story, especially because I have not majored in physics.

Now that I've completely destroyed your brain with something you'd probably rather never have heard of… angst, for your reading pleasure.

You'll notice this one is entirely in Sirius' POV. I may continue in this fashion, because of the way the rest of this is formatted. And when I say 'I may not update for a while', I mean it this time. Damnit. Enjoy.

**Chapter 24 – House of Honor**

"The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, but wiser people so full of doubts."

**-Bertrand Russell**

_It was a familiar Hermione. Another one, one that had been through hell and Azkaban and things that she had begun to suspect might be even worse. She was older. Her hair was trimmed down, shoulder length. Her face was tired, without being lined. She was wearing a plain, button-down white shirt, and black slacks. Barefoot, in the sand._

"_Who are you?" she asked. It was more than a single question. It was complicated. There would be a long answer. But she had the feeling of eternity, here, and _time_, for once, to listen._

_The other her was silent, for a moment. Watching. _

"…_I don't know I'm sure, anymore. You keep confusing me."_

_Hermione straightened, slowly. Looking back into eyes that were hers, and exactly the same, except – unmistakably different. Dark. They had that void, that way of taking in light and not letting it out again._

"_You've been here the whole time?" she asked, feeling young and worthless (or worth less) in her shirt and skirt and tie. Less experienced. What could she possibly tell this woman that she didn't already know? She was her._

"_I think so," the other Hermione said, hands in her pockets. Toes digging into the sand, pale white against its startling, glimmering shades. A million tiny stars on a beach stretched out into eternity - into that impossible horizon. "Since time began, anyway."_

"_And when-"_

000000

How do you argue with a person when they agree with everything you say? How can you get any satisfaction out of yelling when they _won't yell back?_

He'd looked at him, old, with eyes no longer twinkling. For a moment, Dumbledore had looked dead, with a still-beating heart.

"Do what you feel is right, then."

And that – the weight – the _responsibility_. His decision, now. The world, Harry, Hermione, Dumbledore, himself – countless people – all in his hands.

It was the only way out, for Dumbledore. He hated him for making him understand. He didn't want to understand, he wanted to live normally and make the choices that seemed right, and hate people for making the wrong decisions where everything seemed simple. _Where had the simple things gone?_

They'd never been there. They'd all been in his mind. He'd been the person making things simple, tearing them down to meaningless bits of what they really were and nodding as it all made sense. But life wasn't supposed to make sense, he found. Only to stupid Gryffindors with moral pretensions.

Dumbledore had to have been a Slytherin.

He leaned his forehead against the cool stone wall and tried and tried and _tried_ to find the answer. There'd always been one before, staring him in the face. Do this. Do that. Everything will turn out, if your intentions are good.

_Where is it now? What do I do? What do I _do?

Was this how Dumbledore felt, every day?

His fingers clenched against the stone wall, scrabbling for purchase. They caught in the lines of mortar, tensing.

The map on the table was open. He looked at it with tight eyes, daring it to show him again. To strengthen his resolve in the wrong course of action.

_Flick. Flick. Flick._

Hermione Granger leapt in and out of time, as she sat in the library. She was reading. She was dying. She was going to die. She was going to disappear forever.

_What is she trying to do- what is she _doing_-_

His breath stopped, on the sudden thought that welled up inside. _She's disappearing. Will I forget her?_

No. No, no – he sat down in the couch, fingers twisting in his hair. Forgetting her was impossible. He couldn't _possibly_ forget her. He'd given her bits of himself. You couldn't forget that.

Red and gold, at the corner of his eyes. He looked over, staring. _Still my colors…_

Were they?

He'd changed. Before Azkaban, and James, and Lily- god, _James_ and _Lily_, they were _dead_ – he would have grabbed her and ordered her to get rid of it. Somehow, anyhow…

Now, he understood all the reasonings and consequences. No, not all, but some. He was turning Black.

His fingers twitched. The weight of that was gone. He'd given it away.

To her. On her. She was wearing his terrible history on her finger.

Slowly, before he could realize – he slid to his knees. Leaning his forehead against the wall.

_James, what do I _do?

Laughter. He'd brush his fingers through his own hair and laugh and shake his head. Because Sirius was smart, but he was nothing, _nothing_ compared to that ineffable, natural charisma. James always knew. Everything.

"_Now Padfoot, mate, you just need to leave things to me…"_

Dogs are meant to be led. They do not lead. They follow, in the steps of someone else's path.

They need a best friend, too.

"I don't know what to do."

It echoed, in the room.

Everything was exactly the opposite of how it should have been.

000000

He found her sitting in the commonroom alone, at three am. Her legs were pulled up into the armchair, by the fire, chin tucked against her knees.

"I can't sleep," she said, without needing to look at him.

There was a peculiar note in the tone. She hadn't turned her head at all. Her eyes were still staring into the fire.

Sirius moved around the chair, pulling off the invisibility cloak and damn the consequences. And…

And there she was. And _there she was._

Put back together again, in all the wrong ways.

"Hermione." He didn't say her name much, he realized, in that moment. Because it was somewhat awkward on his tongue. It didn't roll off quite like it should have.

She looked up at him. He was blocking the fire. It might have been his shadow (no, it wasn't) but her eyes seemed…

Darker.

The timeturner glittered against her fingers. Against a silver ring, still on her thumb.

He stared at it for a moment, and decided that this was it. He was going to do the entirely wrong thing.

"You need to get rid of it," he said.

Hermione smiled weakly. "It's a little late, Sirius."

She never used his name either.

He was stepping forward, before he knew what he was doing. His hands on either arm of the chair. Leaning, tired, looking at the Azkaban in her eyes and – why –

Why did she have to look like that? If there were just one thing he would ever have wished for – he would have wanted to keep her from that. It was worse than death.

She was looking at one of his hands now, with an odd light in her eyes. It wasn't light, actually. It was more darkness, but a different kind.

Her fingers… touched his hand, just barely. She looked almost surprised that her hand didn't go through him entirely. A strange sound escaped her throat, high and vaguely muffled. Her breath drew in-

And in a sudden, unexpected turn of events, she burst into tears.

There was an awkward moment, of course, during which time he found he could only look down at her in her little curled up ball, shaking. These were not normal tears. They were the last gasping cries of a little girl, finding she was no longer that. Someone who's lost their entire world, all at once, irrevocably – he'd cried these. Alone, sitting alone, in a dark, damp, stone cold room. Screaming into the dark.

His knees gave way almost expectedly, and his hands moved to take her shoulders. His fingers pale against her shirt, which was quite white itself.

She didn't move toward him. She didn't even try to hide in her own arms. Her fingers were twisting, in the chain of the timeturner; the ring, that evil thing on her finger, clinking faintly against it. He'd thought a lot of giving to her, at the time. He wanted to melt it into nothing, now.

His hands stayed on her shoulders. It was a useless, helpless gesture, against the total devastation on her face.

He didn't even dare to ask what had happened.

And finally, words were wrenched from her – "God… god… _god_…"

God did not listen to these kinds of wordless prayers. He _knew_.

The word escaped her over and over. God was stacked upon Himself, a pile of nothing, all to no avail.

He wasn't sure how long it went. His hands stayed clenched on her shoulders, and she continued unabated. She wouldn't fall asleep, to die the little death that sometimes helped. He'd already taken away that perfect respite, cruelly. She was shaking with his own energy.

Her eyes stared down, at something he couldn't see. He would later learn that it was a world apart from this one. One inside the timeturner, with sand and storms and a short-haired woman staring back into her soul with dark eyes.

She wasn't flickering anymore. She was perfectly, perfectly solid. But he had the feeling she wished she'd disappeared forever instead.

When he woke up, it was to a hand on his shoulder. He'd lost consciousness, exhausted and drained, sometime in between. Hermione was looking down at him with a face that was perfectly composed, but for the raw tracts down her cheeks and the inescapable shade in the place behind her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking down at him now. It was a finished apology, finally. The one from her dreams.

"What did you do?" he asked her, without managing to raise himself from where his chin had fallen to his arms, in her chair. His limbs refused to move. 'Made of lead' was truly an appropriate way to say it, this time.

She didn't say anything. But… her fingers twisted at the silver ring on her finger. As though she knew.

Most honored House of Black.

Most honored…

The poison in his soul. It had been there forever, before James and Lily and Azkaban. Slowly, ever so slowly, it had taken him over. Insidious in its whispers. He wanted to be a Black. He wanted to be loved. He'd regretted, in the dark of night, that he had ever listened to the voice of the lion, before the tattered old hat. And now, after all the consequences of that single stupid action, he was there, and he wanted _back._

Hermione attempted a smile at him, shakily, and he wondered to himself what time of morning it was. If the sun had risen, yet. It would be the dawn of the first day of this strange reversal in his life.

Because suddenly, he was following, again. He could be called a dog, bone weary, stranded at her feet.

"_You're practically family anyway, you know."_

He was too tired to cry. Much, much, much too tired…

"Don't ever let me cut my hair," she said, inexplicably.

…but somehow, he found the energy yet to nod.

000000

"_-was that?"_

_The dark eyes looked back, for a moment. Then, they turned up to the endless sky. "Whenever it began. I'm not certain. It could have been when I talked to him, in Azkaban; or maybe when you put on the timeturner. Maybe when the timeturner was _created_. There's all kinds of possible starting points. Maybe all of them are right, in some way or another."_

_Hermione knelt down in the sand, to run it through her fingers. As she thought – it sifted, familiar, as though through an hourglass._

"_So this is the timeturner?" she asked. "Or-" _

000000

And somewhere before the waking hours, he was back in the little room, nearly falling from the couch.

The scarf was pressed against his face, somewhere in there, twined around his neck. _These are my colors._

He was a betrayer. But he was the good kind. The kind on the side that called it 'bravery'. When they knew… when they knew about it.

She knew.

000000

"_-is it my mind?"_

_A shrug._ "_Some combination of both. I didn't have the chance to clear up that particular question, before I started this whole mess."_

_Hermione's knees shifted away the sand as they dug into it. Her toes curled under her, one hand leaning to the side._

"_Harry died?" she asked. There would be a quiver in her voice, normally, but in this timeless space, it was a simple question._

"_Yes," said the shadowed eyes. "And Fred. And George. Sirius." A pause. "It wasn't that they died, really. It was all in the _way_."_

_Sirius died. Sirius _died _This struck her strangely, preemptively. There was the feeling of a hammer, just about to hit her funny bone. Because when she got out of here – if, _if _she did. She was going to cry._

"_You're not going to like me much, after this. Or yourself, I suppose. Actually, there's a lot of people you're not going to like, or _we _won't, or…" A shake of the head. "It doesn't matter. I'll hit the highlights, shall I?"_

_A quiet nod._ _The sand was warm, against her skin._

000000

And time passed.

It went, for once, as far as he could _tell_, in a perfectly straight line.

The timeturner did not malfunction once. It was a clockwork mechanism made of gold and sand, and it took her where she told it to. She never flickered, ever again. But then, she didn't happen to visit him again, either.

He heard, later – about Hagrid, about the newspaper article, and the way Harry hadn't really been working on his egg until she said something to him, in a low voice.

The entire time was spent researching. Researching anything and everything Dumbledore could give him. That was what he was good for. He had been a natural genius, in his time. And he had knowledge no one else did. Like the potion. That had been his.

And just before the Second Task, he was given the strangest, most blatant set of texts yet. They were on time travel.

As he halfway expected, any of them that treated the subject with any kind of seriousness were very, very dark.

There were foreboding warnings, about it. It could be done, they said. It had been done. But there were _prices_, and it didn't always work the way you wanted it to.

None of them could say quite _how._

On the morning of the Second Task, he was still awake from the night before. Staring into the pages of a ragged green tome, without a title.

He didn't understand it.

There were allusions. This was obvious to him. He could tell they were allusions to _something._ But he didn't have the slightest clue what, and no amount of searching through piles and piles of vaguely related books could turn up anything.

Speed of light. Relativity. Singularity. Escape velocities, and infinite density in a point of no volume. Event horizon.

Who was the author? He tried to discover this, to perhaps begin at their background and find things from there. There was no such luck. The author was imaginary, only a cardboard stand for the ideas themselves. Because ideas last forever, once set to pages, but a name can die away like _that._

There was no name. None at all.

Perhaps that was not by accident.

He left the book to itself, to slip away to watch the Task. The person for whom they'd done it all was going to be at risk, for a thousand galleons and a trophy.

It seemed a terribly ironic thing, now.


	26. Situational Avoidance

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

The reviews last time made me _unbearably_ happy. I'm so glad to know I'm not losing my audience to "dear lord, stop with the sci-fi shit!" Just so you all know – the background of the story had to develop over time. I had a vague idea of the theory involved and how it would work, but things just recently fell entirely into place with the _way_ time got screwed around with. So no, I'm not a genius. Just spent a lot of time pondering things in classes where I should have been paying attention. So – a lot of you asked more of those unanswerable questions. There was only really one person I could respond to, which I'll do now.

**Irene:** You're entirely right on almost all counts. After all the brain-killing stuff involved with figuring out this plot, I decided to be a Bad Person and use one of those fanfiction assumptions, where I convince myself you guys have already gotten close enough to Harry in the real series that I can ignore him now. Later, I convinced myself that it was an amazing unconscious theme I had going where everyone kept doing things For Harry but never took the time to talk To Harry. As for Cedric, I decided to be a Really Bad Person and let you all assume that Harry is doing his own things, getting sympathetic toward him, etc. Harry telling him about the dragons and Cedric reciprocating with the egg, for example, happened offscreen. And, last but not least, I had already written this entire sequence with Fred and George before you reviewed… we now have _two_ psychic reviewers. Congrats.

So. Remember how I said George would play a bigbigbig part? Yeah. You'll get some hint of that very soon. Some of you (coughDonahermurphycough) might even be psychic enough to figure out the entire plotline from it, despite my crypticness.

**Chapter 25 – Situational Avoidance**

"The past is what you remember, imagine you remember, convince yourself you remember, or pretend you remember."  
** -Harold Pinter**

_The other her paused, to recollect herself.__The metaphysics of this idea would have stymied Hermione, under any other circumstances._

"…_so Sirius died. Him, first - then Fred, in due time, by stupid, stupid accident. He went out with a good bit of a fight. And George was… he was devastated, of course. I had to tell him, you know. I was there when he woke up, and I got to see it all… all come down." Fingers, tracing in the sand. "It's not nice, watching another person's world shatter. Especially when you're the one holding the hammer."_

Is this really me? _she_ _thought._ This is me. It is. I'm like this.

"_I loved him." Eyes watching, blankly. "Past tense. I loved him, until he went and fucked me up. Everything. He fucked everything up, not just me, but it's me that I'm most angry about." Her palms pressed against the sand, in front of her. There was a soft wind blowing, across the glittering dunes. It made her shirt billow, like the sail of a ship._

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Fred was puzzled. No… puzzled really wasn't the best word. Aghast, probably. Yes, aghast. He'd once heard it from his mother – it was an amusing word, one he'd immediately taken to heart. She'd gotten thoroughly sick of him saying it every chance he got, at seven years old. And, of course, George. Because George and he shared _everything_.

Except lately. He was confused. And aghast.

George had seemed a little different before, but he'd attributed it to his obvious crush on Hermione. Now he was beginning to wonder whether he hadn't, for once, been actually _keeping_ something from him (his record, by the way, was still at two months – he'd hidden one of Fred's shoes when they were six).

Because it wasn't at all usual for Hermione to look at George that way, with those tight little lines at her mouth. Fred had asked him later if he'd done something stupid to make her mad at him. Like, a prank. Because the one they'd played on her in her third year had had her giving them _and_ their brother the silent treatment for a week.

George had only looked at him helplessly from across the dark room, and rolled over to go to sleep.

Then, she was avoiding them both. Then – he caught, just yesterday… there was a way she looked at _him_, too. It took him a few times of watching for it to decipher it. Before, the word was inscrutable. Now it was… aghast?

No, no. Aghast and sad. There.

Maybe she'd been mistaking him for George at the time. Maybe she wanted to apologize for something or other.

Fred decided as he pulled on his gloves that he was thinking much too much about this stupid situation. It was clear his brother was being a ninny. It was almost as clear that Hermione was being uncharacteristically stupid. Or, well – socially stupid, he supposed, which wasn't quite so uncharacteristic.

It was down to him to fix things up again. _Always_.

He heaved a huge, melodramatic sigh for the benefit of the empty room, then tugged his hat down further before stepping out of the dorm room.

"Fred?"

Grin. Right on cue. He'd _known_ he'd be there, and that he'd say that.

"Yes, George?"

His twin stepped out toward the bottom of the staircase, and the grin faded. Fred could instantly tell George's moods. It didn't necessarily have to be a _twin_ thing. It was also a 'I've spent sixteen years with this person and their mouth twitches at the corner when they're really worried and trying not to show it' thing.

"Have you seen Hermione?"

Fred sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes theatrically. "No, George. I haven't seen Hermione. I haven't been outside the room yet, remember?"

George shifted uneasily on his feet, rocking back onto his heels. "It's only, Harry's going to be at the Task, so she wouldn't miss it for anything, I bet. And she's not with the group, and we're about to leave."

Fred cocked an eyebrow. "Asked McKitty yet?"

George nodded quickly, in that way of 'I've spent sixteen years with this person and anything involving Hermione has used this nod that means he's done everything he can possibly think of, plus some things he didn't'.

"She said not to worry about her. But you _know_ she wouldn't miss this, Fred." He was quickly getting to an alarming stage of 'openly worried', which was either very serious or just George's way of having an overprotective crush.

As he mused on this, however, George turned around – ostensibly to search the empty common room again, on the off-chance that Hermione was hiding under the chair cushion.

"Lay off it – I'm sure she's fine." Fred waved a hand dismissingly. "Maybe she went down to breakfast with Harry earlier or something. You know, joined at the hip." Not lately, actually, but that wasn't something to mention. This was a perfectly good explanation, and he wasn't about to jeopardize it.

"Yeah maybe." George's mood underwent a sudden about-face – detailed by the sudden slump of his shoulders, and the way his eyes were suddenly interested in something not quite over Fred's shoulder. And here comes the scowl.

No – there wasn't one, this time. Damn. Fred decided he must have been getting rusty at the 'predict George' game. That was three times in the past month he'd failed to do so accurately.

"Let's get down, then. Bet she's there already."

George turned to go toward the portrait, and passed from Fred's sight.

Fred, for his part, wondered just for a moment whether there was something he was missing in all of this.

Just as quickly, he dismissed the thought and decided it was time to go shout vaguely encouraging things at Harry. Hopefully, there would be no dragons this time.

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"_Sorry." A pause. "I'm getting ahead. Harry died after Fred. Krum died sometime, too, but I wasn't looking. And we all huddled up in Hogwarts, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Only a matter of time. And time - you get that. Time is _everything_."_

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The black dog was almost monstrously big, but that didn't stop the sixth year girls from cooing at it and trying to coax it over to their place in the stands with bits of trail mix. It eyed them sleepily for a moment before cautiously slinking over – a moment later, it paused, eyes flicking upward. One of them sighed in disappointment as it bounded suddenly away, toward some undetermined something. Possibly some_one_.

And somewhere near the back of the pier where Harry had dived into the lake a few minutes prior, the black dog disappeared without a trace.

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"You can be yourself if you want, you know."

Sirius felt her hand brush his head, vaguely, beneath the invisibility cloak. He had to fight the canine urge to lean into it.

"No? All right… I just thought I'd let you know. I've been sitting in this little corner for an entire hour. No one's noticed me yet – though the cloak is appreciated."

Her fingers scratched at his chin idly. He felt his tail thump the wood behind him. It was a traitorous thing.

She leaned back against the wood of the stands, eyes staring out over the calm water of the lake. The shade that had fallen over them was still there, muted by daylight. Her fingers stretched through his fur calmly, though, and there was a strange serenity to the Hermione at the surface that the depths were probably screaming for. Like the glassy, still surface of the Black Lake.

"He'll do fine," she said idly to him, her other hand brushing at her shirt. Just where the timeturner would be. "He already has."

The usual flash of uneasy anger that usually accompanied the thought of her using the timeturner didn't come this time. His eyes were heavy, and her fingers had guided him unconsciously to her lap. Harry was fine. He'd come out fine. That was invaluable.

Hermione was warm, and comforting. She smelled like vanilla, right now. Just a tiny hint of it was in her hair and on her skin, but his nose was more than sensitive enough to pick it up and revel in it.

She only realized their position by the time his eyes were tiny slits, and his limbs too leaden to move. The dog in him was content in the way the human never was, right now. Everything was right with the world, when you were lying in a sweet girl's lap.

Hermione looked down at him with some surprise – then at her hand, which hadn't stopped scratching him behind the ears despite her eyes on it. Something odd came into the shadow behind her eyes, just before his mind collapsed.

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And he was human, when he awoke.

There was no warmth against his cheek, as there had been before, but he had the most inexplicable feeling that there _had_ been.

"Nine, for moral fiber…" Hermione, beside him, shook her head and chuckled ruefully. He didn't move just yet. His body hadn't discovered it was awake.

"Seven. Karkaroff, naturally. Don't know why I could expect him to change the second time around."

She fiddled absently with the timeturner, unaware that he'd awoken.

Then, in a voice so low he almost didn't catch it –

"Third. _Third._"

Her fingers curled around the timeturner, and she was _there_ suddenly, herself – looking frightened and desperate and 'only make this stop, I'll do anything-'

But the little piece of the one he'd known before was gone again, submerged beneath the lake.

The lake-

"Could I- Herm-ow-ninny-"

He sat up slowly, feeling her stiffen a little next to him. She didn't say a word, though, as he pushed himself up against the back of the wall, and watched as Viktor Krum took a wet and bedraggled Hermione aside. She looked remarkably similar to the one next to him, except for the water.

And there – he was walking straight toward them –

"One moment," the Hermione outside said graciously, before detaching her arm from his and going off to one side. Her fingers plucked at her hair – a beetle appeared, pinched carefully between her forefinger and thumb. It was a large one, and had he still been sixteen years old, he would have shuddered at it. At this point, he had experienced such things that the little jump inside was nothing compared. His face continued to watch dispassionately.

The beetle's legs were pumping furiously. Frantically. There wasn't anything of the normal Hermione in the girl holding it. The normal one would have been carefully carrying it toward a deserted spot on the wood, so she could set it down to go free again. She had, against all odds, a terrible soft spot for little things that couldn't help themselves. He knew this…

This Hermione, outside, was staring down at it with a perfectly blank face as it moved.

She brought it up to her lips. He blinked, confused, as she kissed it gently with that blank face, before setting it down directly next to her foot.

It scurried away immediately, its legs finally finding the purchase they needed.

She returned to Viktor as though nothing had happened at all.

"Did you want me for something?" she asked, looking at him with a tilted head.

The Hermione next to him had curled into a ball, her fingers twined together on top of her knees. She wasn't watching – any of it. She was trembling, very slightly.

"It is not – I do not mean to pry-"

Krum's face was concerned, and uncertain.

"You don't have to, then," the other Hermione said, but Sirius found he was just now realizing she was the same as the one next to him. She'd said these things, an hour, two hours, three hours ago. However long it was, for her…

Krum shook his head – he could see him steeling himself for something. "You are not looking vell, Herm-ow-ninny. I realize ve haff not talked very much since you haff said ve vill be friends, but I haff noticed-"

"I'm fine," the girl outside the cloak said. But those shadows, in her eyes-

"No. You haff the look of someone I haff known. You are not fine, Herm-ow-ninny. And ve are friends, no?"

His hand went to her shoulder, where it squeezed gently. "I vill listen, should you talk. And this summer, you vill come visit me in Bulgaria, no? It is very pretty, there, and you vill see castles-"

"That… sounds lovely, Viktor," she said, looking down and smiling tiredly. There were – her eyes were tearing, maybe, but it could have been her hair dripping. "I think you should go to Egypt, though. Go visit Charlie, and see the pyramids. He offered – Ron just hasn't told you yet."

He blinked, at this, but didn't retract his hand. "The pyramids are interestink, but if you need-"

"I'll be staying with my parents. Though we'll probably go on a trip of our own. Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

The words rang in his ears, as the Hermione next to him trembled in a way that suggested she didn't want him to know but knew he couldn't _help_ but know…

Krum's hand left her, and he sighed. "The offer vill be there, all the time. Do not hesitate, Herm-ow-ninny."

"I won't."

He gave her one last concerned glance before stepping away toward the ladder that led up to dry land.

And this ghost of a Hermione watched him go expressionlessly before walking back to sit down in a place just next to his own Hermione. Where her fingers, shaking, pulled a timeturner out, where it flashed in momentary sunlight.

She was gone, so quickly.

And Hermione – _Hermione_ – some version of her was beside him, looking perfectly composed once more.

He didn't believe it, for a moment.

She looked over at him with those eyes, and he somehow knew she was pleading with him somewhere behind them to just forget it all and let her keep pretending. He wasn't sure what she was pretending, but she wanted to keep doing it.

His hand, which had lifted to touch her, dropped again.

Hermione smiled shakily, but it steadied into a more certain one soon enough.

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_And the inevitable thought:_ Is she insane, now? Am I? She's part of me, isn't she…

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Harry and Ron were laughing and sighing in relief and tossing stories into the air, rehashing them and remaking them. "I can't _believe_ I was so worried," Harry was saying. "I didn't even really _sleep_ last night, I was thinking of all the things that could go wrong."

"Nah, Hermione's never failed us before – she wouldn't send you off to your death with a weed in your mouth. Right Hermione?" Ron nudged her in the ribs with a grin.

She smiled weakly at him, from her spot next to them at the dinner table.

"Of course not," Harry said, grinning a little abashedly. "Sorry to doubt you, Queen Genius."

Hermione looked like a doe in the headlights of a car. No, perhaps he was the only one seeing it. She wanted to bolt, it was in the way she held herself. "You can make up for it with more chocolate next Christmas. Besides, if it hadn't been for Cedric, you never would have known…" It was mumbled out, and it trailed off, as she looked down at her plate. Hermione hadn't always been modest – but that hadn't sounded convincing at all. She'd always wanted – no, _needed_ – validation of her intelligence, at least once in a while. Why would it make her uncomfortable now?

"Yeah, it was good of him, I guess." Harry frowned a little, but Ron patted him on the shoulder.

"Come on, Harry! Don't worry about it! You've got _moral fiber!"_

"Nah, that was just me being stupid…" Harry flushed a little, embarrassed, and adjusted his glasses. Hermione looked up at him with eyes that might possibly be slightly damp (she'd long since dried off, it _couldn't_ be the lake) and smiled comfortingly at him.

"I don't think so, Harry. I think it was good of you. People _have _died before in the Tournament, and if there was any chance of it, you chose being a decent person over winning." She paused, slipping a strand of hair behind one ear. "Besides - you never wanted to enter this thing anyway, remember?"

Harry looked back at her with a surprised expression. He nodded after a moment, relaxing. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

George watched the entire exchange, from his place at the other side of the table. He was staring at her unabashedly now - she hadn't said so much as a word to him for weeks. And he'd watched her get more and more tired and more and more stressed, until things were so bad she looked like fifth year again…

Third. That had been _her_ _third _year. She'd looked awful, the little insomniac she was. Were they making her get enough sleep, or did they even notice?

There weren't shadows under her eyes, but you could hide those (though Hermione never did use makeup, maybe she was now-) and the eyes themselves never lied. Her eyes were very, very tired.

If only he had that map. If _only_ he had it. He could catch her, if he had it, corner her until she confessed what the hell was up and get her to go to bed for a few days straight. Stupid, stupid girl – he'd told her she wasn't stupid, after the World Cup, but she really was. She was.

Fred's finger poked into his ribs. He looked over at him, jerking from his thoughts.

"Please stop mooning?" he said with a pained expression.

George scowled. "I'm not mooning."

And, of course, Fred knew he wasn't mooning too. He just liked being difficult like that. It occasionally made him feel better, too.

"Yeah. So what's the problem? She got something in her hair?"

George turned to poke at his food with his fork, frowning. "No. Her hair is fine."

"Actually, it looks like a bird's nest. Humidity and all."

"Shut up, Fred."

That was, of course, the last thing you'd say to Fred if you _really_ wanted him to shut up. And George should have known it, too.

"My god, is that cheeping I hear? Listen, George, _listen_-"

"I _am_ listening, Fred, I can't tune you out!"

He stopped even pretending to eat at this, leaning back into his chair with a deep frown and glancing over at Hermione again.

She was looking down at her untouched food with that same odd expression he'd been seeing lately. He still couldn't quite identify it, but it always made him just a little queasy. And not in a good way.

"Hermione – aren't you going to eat something?" Ron needled, shoving her plate toward her. "You're not putting yourself on one of those stupid diets, are you? You're a stick anyway."

Hermione smiled at him, and it was only a little strained. "No, Ron, I am not dieting. Besides which, anyone with a basic understanding of the human body knows that fad diets put your body into starvation mode and therefore do not work-"

Ron rolled his eyes, but didn't stop her talking. George, for his part, was glad he hadn't. This was Hermione at her most Hermione, explaining things in detail to people who didn't want to listen. It was, in fact, the most Hermione he had seen her being all month.

He sat back into his chair, and took a bite out of his roll.

"Moooooooooon…" Fred quietly snickered next to him.

George found he couldn't stop himself from laughing with him, this time.

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"_I wasn't much use. Lost my drive. All I wanted to do was hide and wait, and George let me do that with him."_

_Her pauses were maddening. They held so many 'and then's and 'if's and 'you'll know soon, but you won't like it's._

_Hermione watched her with mounting apprehension, as she pulled the past (the future) back together._


	27. Conscience of Wisdom

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

First and foremost – I apologize for the horrendous wait. The good news? Remember how I said 'get me a full ride scholarship and we'll talk'? Er. I sort of got _myself_ one. Yay for North Texas. Also, working separately on both a comic line and an original novel. I hope to have the second finished and sent out by the end of summer (?) while the first is going to be an ongoing project with my roommate, who draws much better than I could ever hope to.

Looking through a few of the questions - here's some I _can_ answer. As some of you will have already realized, the things in italics have actually already taken place. The shift of POV occurred in order that you find this all out a little at a time, while Hermione has already had the conversation.

Also – psh. Of _course_ older-Hermione was in love with George. Because he's one of the Big Important People.

I hope you all will take this in spite of its shortness. At the very least, I can say it's a lot of answers packed into a small space.

**Chapter 26 – Conscience of Wisdom**

"...you can't blame the innocent, they are always guiltless. All you can do is control them or eliminate them. Innocence is a kind of insanity."  
** -Graham Green**

"_Then Dumbledore – he's such a _bastard _He had to find something to make me care enough again. So he did. Posthumously, even. He's a _genius _bastard." Fingers, brushed across the sand. They left whorls in their wake. Intricate designs that probably meant nothing._

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Geronimo the owl was very, very confused. It had never encountered a letter addressed quite like this before. In fact, despite a rather small, confused brain, it had the good sense to reread the address just in case.

_To Geronimo the Owl  
The Owlery  
Tomorrow_

_Forward To:  
Hedwig the Owl  
The Owlery  
The Day After Tomorrow, Before Evening_

_Forward To:  
Any School Owl  
The Owlery  
Three Days From Now, Before Breakfast_

_Forward To:  
Draco Malfoy  
The Slytherin Breakfast Table  
Three Days From Now, During Breakfast_

There were a few things wrong with this: the first was that it had been addressed to three owls; the second was that it had been forwarded so very many times; the third was that it was ultimately meant to go to a person that had once attempted to turn this particular owl into an actual ping pong ball instead of a metaphor for one.

Geronimo shuffled about a few times, staring unblinkingly at the letter. After a few more minutes of this, it finally took the letter in its beak and maneuvered it into the back of its small sleeping compartment at the Hogwarts Owlery.

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"Crouch was at the Second Task," Hermione said idly, her fingers toying with the timeturner again. She never seemed to put it down, these days.

"And that means?" Sirius looked up at her from over his current stack of books, wherein somewhere lay the answer to his singular problem (Ha. Ha. Well, James would have laughed.)

"Nothing. I'm thinking aloud." She stretched herself out farther in front of the fire, and put her head down into her arms with a sigh.

"You're not doing homework?" he asked her, vaguely surprised.

Hermione shook her head, without picking it up. "I'm done."

This seemed… slightly suspicious. He couldn't really remember the last time Hermione had been done with her homework, and exams were fast approaching.

Sirius pulled the Marauder's Map surreptuously from his pocket, and activated it in a whisper.

Surely enough, Hermione Granger was both asleep in her dormitory _and_ walking about the school, despite the obvious fact that Hermione Granger was drowsing near his fire.

"I thought that was cheating," he said mildly, clearing it again just as his alter persona began to write out a sly remark about sleeping girls.

Hermione did glance up at him this time, but only to shrug. "So is knowing the Tasks before they happen. That doesn't seem to faze any of the Champions. Cheating has sort of… lost its meaning to me, at this point."

He'd have been vaguely proud of her, if the thought of Hermione Granger not caring about cheating hadn't been so disturbing.

"In the meantime… I'm trying to put things together. Could you give me a few moments?" she asked him politely, setting her head back into the crook of her arms.

Sirius looked her over once, curiously, but said nothing more. He looked back down at the book.

It said nothing. In many more words than that.

A sigh – he shut it for the time being and leaned back, letting his eyes close. Whatever he was supposed to be finding out wasn't blaring out at him from the page.

He let his eyes drift instead, tired of reading words and more words, and this, inevitably, led to the glimmer of firelight on Hermione's hair. He should've been a bird Animagus, considering the way he was attracted to shiny things.

Her chestnut hair looked gold in the firelight, spread out like fire – over her back, her arms, the pillow she leaned on. It hid her very well, so that he couldn't tell just what expression her face was contorted into. Frustrated puzzlement, perhaps. Curiosity. The slight downward tug her mouth got when she was thinking very hard.

_I need to get a new hobby. Obviously, I've been Hermione-watching too much._

He wrenched his gaze from the curve of her back toward the book that lay on the table. Maybe… if he went through it again…

"It must be," her voice said suddenly, and she looked up from the pillow. Yes, there was that slight frown. "It must be. It's Crouch. They're using him carefully, they're keeping watch… or perhaps they just replaced him."

Sirius jerked his eyes back toward hers, blinking in shock. "How the hell did you come up with that?" he demanded.

She smiled, uneasily, and he saw the darkness flickering in her eyes. Like fire.

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"_He left that pensieve, with instructions, and memories. And memories – they're just another measurement of time. There were all kinds in there, but mostly _his _I watched them all. I couldn't stop, once I began…"_

_Her face was a mask of careful blankness, once again._

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He'd missed her again, by seconds. There was no describing the frustration involved. He was absolutely _certain_ this time that she'd gone around the corner into a dead end – but of course she wouldn't be there when he trailed after her by a split moment. That would be too easy and make too much sense.

_Maybe it's a secret passage?_ George thought. _It would have to be a fast one, though… is she using the invisibility cloak? No, that was stolen…_

He ran his fingers through his hair with a slight frown, turning the problem over in his head. She was clearly just – not _there._ The logical progression was that she was now somewhere _else._ Because you couldn't just be nowhere. Apparition was impossible on Hogwarts grounds – therefore, she had to be somewhere _connected_ to this dead end.

_It has to be a secret passage. Somewhere around here._ His eyes glanced around for differences – anything that might mark a certain location. He even checked the ceiling, on the odds that there was something up there. A few frustrated charms later, and he had to give up that particular supposition. Hermione _had_ been, but was no longer. She hadn't moved from this position, but she had clearly gone somewhere else.

The problem, he would later determine, was that he was thinking in only three dimensions.

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When the door opened, ejecting a grim-looking fifteen year old (fifteen? was she sixteen by now?) Sirius did his best to look as though he hadn't been trying to listen in like a child.

Maybe he succeeded, to an extent. Or maybe she was just preoccupied.

Hermione's face was very pale when she passed, but he could tell the slight difference there. She wasn't sick, or tired (though both were possible, in any case). The way her lips were pressed together, and her fingers had curled into trembling fists indicated she was quietly enraged.

"Could I talk with you for a moment, Mr. Black?"

Sirius glanced into the office, where Dumbledore still sat behind his desk. The immediate instinct was to decline and go after her, but there had been a quiet undertone to the headmaster's voice that made the phrase less a request than an imperative.

He entered reluctantly, closing the door behind him, but he didn't sit down. This might be concluded quickly, in which case he could try to fulfill both impulses.

"We're now aware that Crouch Senior is a threat," Dumbledore informed him. There was no twinkle in his eyes. Sirius was, in fact, very much aware of the opposite – the usually bright blue color seemed to have dulled from some exhaustion or other.

"Crouch _Junior_ could hardly be a threat," Sirius told him. "Seeing as he's dead."

Instead of taking this as a macabre joke, Dumbledore merely sighed very heavily and looked up at him again. "Yes. Let us talk about that rather disputable fact. As it turns out, one Crouch may be playing the other."

The first thing to cross Sirius' mind was not simple incredulity. It was, instead – _Hermione knew. How did Hermione know?_

Third time…

"Don't think on it too hard," Dumbledore told him. "I've something to ask. If the Triwizard cup becomes a portkey that leads directly to what remains of Voldemort… if it will _only_ be that way during the third task… if the cup allows no one but a Champion to touch it, once set… how do we use that?"

_No,_ he thought suddenly. _He won't do that. I absolutely will not allow-_

"_Obliviate._"

Dumbledore sighed again, even more heavily. "I had hoped for a better idea from you, perhaps. I suppose none came to mind."

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"_And after all of that, to leave the possibility of _change… _Dumbledore is the cruelest man on the face of the earth, and when you understand like I do-" Her voice broke off. Then, after a swallow. "-after that, you'll never be able to look at him the same again. He's the worst sort of human being. He's got – purpose. He'll do anything."_

I don't want to hear this, _she realized suddenly._ I don't want to hear it. I really want to keep worshipping Dumbledore, inside me, I want to let him take care of things-

"_He knows about leverage, Dumbledore. 'Give me a place to stand, and I will move the earth'… some little girl who could barely find it in her to keep living was nothing to him."_

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"There was something important that I forgot."

Hermione glanced at Sirius from where she'd laid herself out on the couch, a hand over her eyes. "You know why, don't you?"

He blinked at her a little. His mind was hazy for some reason or another, and it was taking time for her words to process.

"You too, then…" She let out a tired laugh. "I'm forewarned, you know. Because I knew what he was. I knew he might try something like this…" Her eyes were unfocused, but they seemed darker than ever now. "Can you get rid of a memory charm?"

He leaned against the wall, struggling to refocus. Memory charm? No, he'd gone in and sit down, and Dumbledore had offered him a lemon drop… asked about his research, if he could give him the notes so far for perusal…

"I'm bollocks with those," he told her with another blink. "You know that."

"And his would be strong," Hermione agreed vaguely. "I can't see it coming off. I'll have to check the diary… I don't think he knows about it, but he might…"

"What are you talking about?" he asked her blearily.

"I don't know. Not yet." She smiled gently up at him, then, for some reason or another. "I think I'll stay here… just long enough to get my feet back."

Everything kept slipping away so easily. He could have sworn he'd almost understood everything – several times – but things were becoming more and more distant with every passing second.

"Do you think…" she mumbled to herself sleepily. "Do you think he'll have anticipated me?"

Sirius pressed a hand to the place between his eyes, exactly as she'd done. It had begun to hurt.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he murmured, moving to sit in front of the couch. Leave it to her to take the most comfortable piece of furniture…

Her fingers were light, and curling through his hair. At any other time, he would have been shocked and possibly alarmed at the gesture, but right now, there was a part of him urging that he lean into it. It was touch, human touch, and it was everything he'd so desperately needed for so long…

"It's such a twisty way to think," she whispered. "After a while, I begin to wonder whether everything was meant to lead up to this… if it's all part of how it was supposed to go…"

_Maybe I'll understand this later… if I even remember… dear god, I'm tired…_

"…no matter what I change, or fix, or break. It's possible Fate is still laughing at me."

_This is some kind of strange dream,_ he thought. _I'm about to wake up._

And he did. And it was. Or had to be – because she wasn't there.

000000

_Her lip trembled, and the mask began to fray. Hermione with the dark eyes was lost and little, a tiny blip in the middle of the vast eternity._

"_You know what it's like, being inside someone's life? Seeing what it's like, being immersed in them, so completely… you sympathize. You _empathize. _You want, more than anything, to help them somehow, even if everything you're watching has already happened. Even if you _know _they're _dead."

No one should be forced to hope again, _Hermione thought suddenly. This was the result. Broken past repair, and still functioning somehow – pieces found and forced together at odd angles, jammed in all wrong… and that was _her.

_The other Hermione brushed her short hair back quietly against the wind, her smile sad and trembling. _

"_After that, you… you just fuck it all, and fall in love."_


	28. Singularity

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

Sorry about the slow updates. I really am writing an original novel, and I'm hoping to give it to an editor at a convention that's coming up ridiculously soon. We're at 35,000 words. Rejoice! Break out the Mountain Dew!

This chapter is short, by the way, but _really dense._ Think of it as a singularity. (/really bad, geeky pun).

Also, yes – this is the end of separate POVs. You get to take a look inside Hermione's truly confused brain next.

**Chapter 27 – Singularity**

"Eternity's a terrible thought. I mean, where's it all going to end?"   
**-Tom Stoppard**

_The other Hermione leaned back onto her heels, closing her eyes with a deep breath._

"_We're the same person. Whatever it is that makes Hermione who she is, at the core, is in both of us. The only difference is that I'm half her soul, whereas you've the whole-" She broke off, trembling. "By the end of this… you'll be one and a half. But hey, the soul is infinite… why should you notice a little more or a little less, right…" _

_She laughed, shaking her head. "There's a word for what I did, to get here – inside the ubiquitous timeturner. Because of that quality… it's the only safe place in any time or space during Event Horizon…"_

_Fingers in the sand, perfect fingernails dragging grooves in the infinite stars._

_Her eyes lifted slowly, to meet their counterpart._

"_Horcrux._ _The word is _Horcrux."

000000

"Nudge."

George looked up at his twin from over his book ("Wizarding Business and _You_") to raise an eyebrow. "Did you- just _say_ 'nudge'?"

Fred grinned. "I'm too comfortable to get up and do it. Anyway – Hermione's just come in. You want to take a break from your fascinating study to go declare undying love?"

George frowned at him. "You were the one who said we had to look into the bureaucracy of it all-"

"Time's a wasting."

George had already flicked his eyes toward the entrance to the common room, though, and decided that catching up with Hermione was enough to warrant an immediate end to the conversation. The book made a depressingly large thud on the chair where it fell as he got to his feet.

She seemed distracted. Enough so that he was able to stop her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione?" Pause. What to say… he should've planned this…

"George, my- my head hurts. I need to lay down."

He frowned. "Look, I know you're avoiding me for some reason, but the least you could do is just tell me why instead of making all these excuses…"

"I know. Right. I'm a terrible person." She smiled sharply up at him, holding her forehead. "You don't want to talk to me right now, George."

"Your amazing mind reading powers must be off a bit today," he told her. "Because I really do."

Her eyes – they were that dark kind of something, as they looked at him. They were the same color, still, so it was hard to establish just _how_ they were darker-

"All right. All right." Her smile, while pleasant, did not promise anything of the sort. "My room?"

George blinked. Not only was this not going anything like he would have imagined, but- "Er, Hermione, you know I can't-"

Her wand flicked at the staircase, where he hadn't even noticed it in her hand before.

"Of course you can."

She started up the steps without a backward glance at him.

He hesitated only a moment before trying to follow. The stairs let him up without complaint, all the way to the fourth year girls' dormitories.

Any other day, this would be cause for much patting on the back and blatantly immature snickering. Today, all he felt was an incredible unease.

_Do I want to know?_ Came the sudden thought. _I don't know what on earth I could have done, but _do I want to know?

Hermione did look back at him, at the door. She opened it for him, waiting patiently as he entered.

000000

"_Let me tell you a little secret – Dumbledore never once used any dark magic, not once in his _life_. But he'd no qualms about overlooking other people using it, as long as it helped him. Might even encourage it, without saying so. That was his research – all looked into, neat and tidy, and no one else could possibly understand it but me with my muggle ideas. But of course, the research said, you can't do this. This would be wrong. A horcrux is dark magic, and it takes sacrifices, and you shouldn't do it. But-" An acid twist of her mouth. "-he didn't destroy it, did he? No. And that timeturner, and the pensieve – those were blatant hints. First steps on the road to damnation."_

_Oh god. Oh _god_. She couldn't have. She wouldn't. No matter what, she couldn't have possibly – a sacrifice – _

"_But what do you know about the Rutilus Vita?" A tiny smile played on her lips. "That's the potion he gave you. It's supposed to take a sacrifice too, but he changed it. I watched the moment it dawned on him, and all the research after… one sacrifice, bleed slowly. You can fool it, he found. All it asked for was a sacrifice, it didn't have to be unwilling. He made a sacrifice of his own blood, in the other sense of the word. A horcrux, now – that's got to be an unwilling sacrifice… you can split it, but the end result was still horrific. I hid the notes and thought I would never do it and no one could reproach me because _no one knew."

_She leaned her head downward, chin resting on curled up knees. "Should've burned them. That's how you end things right. George found them."_

_One unwilling._ _One sacrifice. He wouldn't…_

"_For Fred?_ _Of course he would. He made me kill him."_

000000

The door shut with a quiet sound, and Hermione leaned against it with a kind of idle weariness.

Right. Girls' dorm. The hell… there had to be a chair somewhere, _someplace_ safe to sit-

"What do you want to know?" she asked him, with sudden pleasantness.

George blinked, deciding for the moment to lean against one of the banisters. _I'm still entirely in control,_ he thought, and tried to project this manner as much as possible. _I'm one of those terrible twins mothers warn their ickle firsties to stay away from-_

"I just… want to know what's wrong, I guess…" _So much for that._

"It's really ironic you should ask that, George. Know why?" She moved, to sit down on her bed. He supposed it was her bed, at least. It had a large stack of books sitting next to it.

"No… I don't, really. I'm really sorry, all right? I don't know what it is, but I'm sorry for it." She had to believe him. It was _pathetic_ how much he wanted her to believe him.

"Because," she said, her eyes muddled and tired and somehow smoldering with anger in spite of this. "Because this is all _directly your fault._" Her fingers were twined up in something, a chain around her neck…

He tried not to gape at her – at the sheer absurdity of this statement – but it was all right, considering the circumstances, that he failed.

"There's only one way to go back in time and make a difference," she told him, pulling on the chain. There was a tiny golden hourglass on the end of it, dangling strangely. It was out of sand, but it was made such that it could clearly be overturned to fix that little problem. "Only one way I could find, between Dumbledore's research and my own stupid stumbling about. And I _didn't want to do it._ In spite of everything, I didn't want to do it. Hermione Granger is not that kind of person, not now or then or ever."

"There's only one way, but there's variations on the actual process," she said, looking up at him with her tired smile and her dark eyes. "So this is the question that'll make it all make sense… if it was between saving Fred or _not_ fucking me up completely, which one would you choose?"

Something like tears had begun to collect at the edges of her eyes. She wiped at them with shaking fingers.

This wasn't true. It couldn't possibly be true. It was too _crazy_.

"I wouldn't," he whispered dazedly. "There's no _way_ I would…"

"Not now. But you… you _would_… under the same circumstances…" Her voice was breaking. "I'm sorry, George. I shouldn't have said anything. I can't – I can't blame you for this. How on earth can I blame you for something you haven't _done_ yet? Now… you might never do it…"

He stared at her, purely shell-shocked. _I did this?_ Impossible. _I did this to her?_ She'd said it. Direct result.

"…I can't hate you," she said in a small voice. "There's one half of me that really wants to, but can't, and there's the rest of me that really… really likes you. I shouldn't have done this."

_Maybe she's crazy_, the thought came. _Maybe she is, that would make it all… somewhat better…_

But regardless of her state of mind, or the future, or the past future, or any kind of anything, Hermione was still sitting on the edge of her bed crying.

_Know what? Later. I'll think about it later._

It seemed an eternity ago he'd done this exact same thing, pulling her carefully into him while she tried to find the present. She was tiny, compared. Soft and shaking.

"I don't… understand," he told her honestly, his fingers dragging through her hair. "But whatever else… _I_ know I wouldn't… not… me right now…"

Her fingers closed around his shirt, dragging him down with a surprising amount of strength. Her mouth closed on his, desperate and lost – searching for something she instinctively knew she wouldn't find in him. Someone else. A _different_ him.

He could feel her fingers, tracing his face. There, over his cheekbone, down the line of his neck. That much would be the same, wouldn't it? Before he could begin to make sense of that, his own hand slipped to the base of her neck, careful. This was Hermione, whatever else in the world was true, and she was _kissing_ him like _that…_

Her lips curved up against him for a moment. That made it all worthwhile.

When she drew back, her hand was still resting against his cheek. There was some kind of understanding light in her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"I… really _could_ have loved you," she told him.

It sent a strange kind of shiver down his spine, as he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. He allowed himself to think, for just a moment, of that strange future of hers where she _did_ love him. The possibility was…

"But we're… neither of us are who we were…" A sigh. "I shouldn't have done this, you remember? And from here, I'll be no better than Dumbledore."

Her wand… the wand in her hand…

"_Confundus_."

000000

_Hermione looked at her, trying to find the broken insanity inside. All she saw was darkness, in those dark pits of her eyes. Worse than Azkaban. A living singularity, unclothed._

"_So you brought me here, somehow… because while I'm in here, Time can't get to me?"_

"_Seven out of ten, Miss Granger." Whisper. The sand was descending, and the sky was rumbling ominously. "But you're missing the obvious. I didn't bring you here. It tried to destroy you, already. But you can't die. You've a horcrux, in an untouchable place. Event Horizon brought you here."_

_A pause._

"_Do you know? My one regret? I shouldn't tell you. You don't need to hear it. But you know I'm more selfish than you, at this moment in time… I'm going to tell you anyway."_

_Sad and tired and dark and she could still smile wistfully._

I wanted to touch him again. Just one more time.

000000

"She's really not doing well."

Fred sighed. "That all you talked about?"

George shrugged uneasily. "It's not easy to… talk about other stuff, when someone's like that. I'm leaving off, Fred. Least… 'till summer."

Fred rolled his eyes. "You're a lost cause, mate."

George sat down heavily, picking up the book again. "Yeah. I guess so."

000000

Breakfast this day would rank among the top ten strangest things ever to happen to Draco Malfoy. It would in fact, by complete coincidence, take the spot that 'turned into a ferret and bounced around a corridor' would have occupied had time not decided to eradicate that particular event.

As it was, the letter that dropped in front of him was unexpectedly ratty and covered in bird droppings.

He swore beneath his breath – at the owl that had just departed, at the post, at anyone who happened to be nearby, in general.

"I'm not opening this piece of…"

The writing was strangely familiar.

"Fuck."

Despite it all, the letter disappeared into his bag.

000000

_Her white, shark-like smile, beneath dead eyes, is the last memory of the unreal, everywhere place. The older Hermione, standing in the eye of a breaking storm – white shirt billowing, snapping, in the wind. Short hair shadowing the eyes._

"_I hate you," she informed her, because it was what they both expected, and they both knew anyway._

"_I know." Soft. "So don't become me."_


	29. A Game of Chess

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

You guys get a _big_ author's note today. A big one.

First off. The updates. I'm obviously in college now, and taking a few more credit hours than usual. I'm writing a book (well along, yes) and a comic, and starting a club, and keeping up as perfect a GPA as I can, because I have a scholarship to keep. My days are so horrifically packed, it's inhuman. And, yes, I did it to myself. (Ever wonder where Hermione got that particular characterization bit? No, no, nevermind…)

This doesn't mean I won't update. It means I'm doing my best, and it's not a top priority, as much as I really want it to be. Believe me, I would rather be writing fanfiction than doing Precalculus. Alas, the world just doesn't work that way.

Notes on this particular chapter: I had a few ideas to make it a little more interesting. Firstly, you'll notice I included a lot of allusions. It had always been a thought in my mind, that Future Hermione might be a bit more well read in the fiction and poetry department. Especially the grimmer things. Hermione's point of view is as absolutely confusing as it gets right now (which means it can only get better from here, possibly, theoretically), so I decided to add in some muddled thoughts, courtesy of other _real_ authors. Poor girl.

And now, I get to explain The Past. For a quick note, before we get started on this. I'd like to say: ironically, this plot was always pretty well established in my mind, including the Horcrux. I had just decided the timeturner would be akin to Tom Riddle's diary. When book six came out and gave this dark, soul-preserving object a name, I was suddenly much more able to put this idea into words.

_The explanation:_ Donahermurphy, as usual, comes out on top of the 'hey, I think I might understand what's going on' pile. Horcruxes are dark magic, and require an unwilling sacrifice (by my analyzation, anyway). What they pretty much do is split your soul into pieces and hide one in an object, so you can't die as long as that object is still there. Therefore, one Horcrux will have one half of the soul, while the body retains the other. That's what the timeturner is; it holds one half of future Hermione's soul. Because current Hermione is technically the same person, it counts as being her Horcrux. Normally, Time would squish her into little bits along with her Horcrux, but the timeturner is infinite, and cannot be squished. Therefore, she gets past Event Horizon and starts a new timeline.

Future Hermione was left research notes, the pensieve, and the timeturner from Dumbledore. In the pensieve, she saw Sirius tweak the Rutilus Vita, also dark magic, so that the requisite blood could come from him instead of a sacrifice (if you'll recall, he used it for the Order). This showed her how to work around the requirements of dark magic to lessen their impact. The only thing she could uncover with this information was the fact that she could split the 'unwilling sacrifice' into two parts – to put it more bluntly, force an unwilling person to kill a willing one, obviously with the use of the Imperius curse. At this, she hides the research and decides to ignore it. Alas, as it turns out, George finds her research and learns that there's a way to send someone back in time to fix what's happened (first among his concerns being Fred's death). He implements the solution she reached in her notes, and forces her to kill him.

You all know the rest.

**Chapter 28 – A Game of Chess**

"They say that time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself."

**-Andy Warhol**

There was a chess board.

There was a black side, and a white side, and the squares seemed to blur in her vision, so that they all turned into murky, dirty shades of grey. The pieces were in such convoluted positions, check and check and check and possibly, maybe checkmate in five turns or so, and in the end, she had no idea who she was rooting for, who she was playing for, if she was really playing at all.

_My head hurts. Oh dear god, my head hurts._

"Check _again_, Harry. Come on, I know you can do better. Just – um – that rook, right there…"

"No, don't, Ron! I'm playing this one without your help!"

_Really._ _My head hurts._

"He looks like he's winning," Hermione muttered.

"He's not. He's going down in two turns, and he knows it. Unless he moves that rook-"

"_Ron!_"

"All right, all right, shutting up. See me? Shut up. All shut up, not saying a word."

"And no pointing! Or- or gesturing!"

There was a muffled sound as Ron tried to deny vehemently through closed lips.

"I need to study," Hermione sighed, stacking her books up in her arms and pushing back her bushy hair. "You two… have fun."

Ron threw her an affirmative signal, without turning around. Harry sighed, and moved his rook.

Hermione headed up the stairs, trying to balance books and wand. Her head _did_ hurt, and she'd had the strangest feeling of déjà vu all day. Or – maybe the reverse of déjà vu. Like she ought to know something that she didn't.

_But I know everything,_ she thought, with a heavy sinking in her stomach. _Everything._

She knew, for example, that Fred had once died, that George had once engineered his own murder, that she was desperately, horrifyingly, unquestionably in love with a memory in a pensieve that just happened to have a somewhat similar counterpart. She knew why, how, and where she had been put under the Imperius curse, the reason she had grown tolerant to it (don't think, dear, don't think about it, her mirror consoled). You don't allow it, after that. Even once, after that. You absolutely will not allow it.

In an absolutely different, but somewhat ironic vein, she knew T.S. Eliot's entire works almost by rote. She'd never read T.S. Eliot.

_Never did. Never… have. Had. Never will, once upon a time…_

But, she reflected, as she set her books down on her bed and sat down heavily against the door… she understood now that the world would end, not with a bang, but a piteous little whimper.

_My world._ _This world and my world… my world is this world. It never would have existed without me. What does that make me?_

She got to her feet, shaking her head, and went to lay herself down on the bed. Hermione pulled her pillow over her head and tried to breathe in the suffocating darkness. It was easier.

_Philosophy is the last thing I need to consider right now._

It was… just the problem, with being overly imaginative. Overly analytical, more. She had to break things apart. She was a deconstructor. Fate had put her… no, no, _Dumbledore_ had put her, a Dumbledore, one of them, or both of them, into the role of the constructor.

What had held true then, though, was still true now. However much she wanted to hide, Dumbledore had given her the one reason to fight she couldn't refuse.

The deconstructed dog. She would put him back together.

_How?_

Plan, Hermione. Plan. It's what you do.

_I have no plan. I don't know what I'm planning for. I've changed things too much._

You're intelligent. We're intelligent. We have conquered the past, and the future. All we need is the present.

_Arguably the easiest._

And hardest.

_What do I do?_

What do I do?

000000

'_I'm sorry.'_

Who said that?

_It doesn't matter. Focus._

No. Who said it. I wanted to know, I wanted to find them, and tell them how much it wasn't enough. And thank them. And hate them.

_It doesn't matter._

It doesn't matter.


	30. Our Broken Circle

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

This chapter should be more coherent. Because Hermione clears up some. And it's not three am.

And guess what! We're getting close to the end, I think! Like – the _whole thing._ Yay!

**Chapter 29 – Our Broken Circle**

"It is often stated that of all the theories proposed in this century, the silliest is quantum theory. In fact, some say that the only thing that quantum theory has going for it is that it is unquestionably correct."  
**-Michio Kaku**

"Hermione, seriously. You've got to tell me how you did it. I don't think they've ever _banned_ a student from homework before."

She glared at him, but there wasn't much behind it. "I'm not answering that, Ron."

He was sitting next to the hospital bed, his face somewhere between hysterically amused and hysterically concerned. She appreciated it, really, somewhere inside her. Because Ron was the only unchanging thing, ever. He had always been like this. He always would be – would have been. She cut off the thought, and focused on the constancy.

"Well – when d'you figure they'll let you out?" He snagged one of the chocolate frogs he'd brought her, stuffing it absently into his mouth.

"…I don't know." Honestly. She'd finally gone and broken, when she'd promised McGonagall and everyone else that she wouldn't. They'd believed her, too. It had been that weird, unspoken rule, that Hermione Granger never broke. Just the thought of the implied betrayal of that rule made her sick to her stomach.

"Hermione – it's – it's not that bad." Ron had predictably gone into rationalizations. It was for her benefit, so she lent him a bit of her remaining attention. The rest was on memories, and not-memories, and thoughts, and once-plans. Since waking, she'd been frightened to discover that her perceptions of the present had been grotesquely altered by possible memories of the past. Which were true and which weren't… it was taking time to figure out.

_They'll take it away. What if they take it away?_

The thought made her throat seize with fear.

"…and you've always made such amazing grades, you'll still be in the running for top graduate, or whatever they call it…"

She realized she'd already tuned him out, and felt the shame grow heavier.

"Besides, they haven't called up your parents yet. That's a good thing, right?"

Hermione gave a horrible shudder. Ron looked at her with a puzzled expression, and a mouth smeared with chocolate. She waved away his quizzical face.

"One of those things. Someone must have walked over my grave." _If I ever get one._ _I haven't had one yet, no matter how many times…_

The thought was depressing, and she had begun to scare herself with her preoccupation on the subject.

"Hermione," he began. Hesitant. "Look, you… you know you can…" He fumbled for her hand with earnest, concerned eyes, and slightly chocolate-covered fingers. "You can tell me if something's wrong. And – and Harry. Either of us, or both of us, you know? If you'd said something about the work, and all, we wouldn't have made you go out to Hogsmeade that weekend-"

"I enjoyed Hogsmeade," she interrupted him, with a weak smile. _Which one? Did I really have a snowball fight with them? Did Harry really win? Or is it something else I'll never know for sure?_

"Um – I know, but…" He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "You're getting off subject. What I mean to say is that we're your friends, and you – you can trust us with _anything_, Hermione. Anything at all. We'd understand, even if you wouldn't really think we would."

Hermione went silent; she glanced down at his hand on hers, and thought, _thought_, on those words. On how genuine and utterly applicable they were.

For a moment – not the first, not the last – she felt the urge within her. The rising _need_ to tell him, to blurt out everything, right in the hospital wing. Sirius, and Harry, and Fred and George, and everything she did and didn't know, and the plans she had made with Malfoy (_Malfoy!_ of all people!) to get things on that perfect little track.

But as much as Ron wanted to think of understanding… he wouldn't. Or worse, he would. (What would he say to his brothers? Even _she_ didn't know what to say to them, she'd been so petrified that she'd made them forget…)

"Hermione," he said again. "Listen to me, would you?"

She blinked, and realized she hadn't been breathing.

_I want to. It's not like I don't want to, Ron._

But she remembered him with sad, hopeless eyes, with death reflected in them, with that pathetic little spark of hope, _still_, that always made it even worse on solid, perseverant Ron.

"I'm overworked," she said. "And – I've learned my lesson."

Ron withdrew his hand. She immediately missed it. He looked disappointed.

Hermione averted her eyes from his, fiddling with the bed sheet in between her fingers. "Where's Harry?" she asked softly.

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "He's… he's working on stuff for the Third Task. He said you'd just tell him off if he came to see you instead."

Hermione's weak smile turned genuine at this. "Good. That's what he should be doing."

Ron's ears were red at the tips. How peculiar. Or – no – perhaps they had once been red. Perhaps they never would be?

"A-anyway." He got to his feet uneasily, rubbing at his hands. "You need another blanket in here. I'll go bug them for another blanket. A big fluffy one."

Hermione's smile widened. "Thanks, Ron."

He shook his head a little. "It's fine. What are friends for, huh?" He paused, on his way into the other room. "I'll make sure it's not from some Slytherin's bed or anything."

"Thank you."

Her heart, unaccountably, felt near to bursting, just as his bright red hair disappeared around the corner.

000000

"You think she knows?"

A pause.

"No. She looked too confused to tell."

"…good."

000000

In the minutes, hours, days she seemed to spend in the hospital wing, Hermione found time blurring by in an alarming fashion. Sirius did not come by to visit again, though she found evidence of Lupin's presence between her dazed waking and sleeping. Mostly chocolates, sometimes, just barely, a lingering scent of wolfsbane. McGonagall did not come to talk to her. Nor did Dumbledore. It was this conspicuous absence of action that truly made her begin to panic.

_Why aren't they taking it away from me?_

It had been a simultaneous hope and fear. She admitted it to herself in the darkest hours of the night, when she found herself awake and thinking (and thinking, and thinking, and thinking…) But so much damage had already been done that it seemed so ridiculous to give everything up now. She had to follow through, ideally, to an end. Any end at all. Perhaps no end.

Sometimes, she found herself tracing circles in the bedsheets with her finger – unbroken lines that inevitably connected to themselves, and overlapped in strange ways. At one point, she imagined she had drawn herself an entire sphere, though that was really mathematically impossible.

_And really, what's the point,_ she found herself thinking, as her hand drew over imaginary sketches, erasing them once more. _It will only happen again. It doesn't matter what I do, because I'll only screw up somehow, and then it begins again._

There were days she felt much like she had with Sirius sitting next to her, entirely unable to find the will to move. Not to care, because she cared, she couldn't help but care with some part of herself, all the time – but the will to hope. The thought that any of this mattered at all. Whenever hope threatened her lackadaisical state, all it took was some pseudo-memory of Ron, and his pathetically hopeful eyes. The cycle would begin again.

_I'm not like him. I don't want to be like that._

Hermione Granger was a fighter. But Hermione Granger was reasonable. She knew when to give up. She knew when it was hopeless, or crazy, or the odds were mathematically stacked against them. She was a Gryffindor, not a Hufflepuff. And bravery really only got you through so many repeated failures before the real world began to hammer its logistic matrix into you. You failed before, before that, perhaps before that. The odds are stacked against you, Miss Granger.

She'd never hated knowing Arithmancy before. Now, she never wanted to see her textbook ever again.

"They've been keeping you away from visitors," Lupin told her, when he caught her awake one day. He settled into the chair, looking haggard and tired, and she could smell the sickly wolfsbane invading her nostrils. "Do you know why?"

Hermione shook her head.

"I don't either." He paused, leaning back in his chair. "And I don't know why _you_ haven't asked yet."

"You know," she told him, blinking somewhat bemusedly, "I'm not sure I know why either." It didn't mean it was any less true.

Lupin sighed. "It might be something to do with the last task. It's coming up. I would've thought you'd want to be there, though."

She circled her arms around her knees, pulling them up to her chest. "I don't know."

His brow furrowed – his eyes flicked toward her neck. He paused again, and this time it was _pregnant._

"…why do you still have that?"

Hermione blinked, looking at him. "What?"

Lupin leaned forward, catching the golden chain of the timeturner with his fingertips. He lifted it up, to look at it incredulously. "Why do you still have that?"

She felt her dazed frown deepen into something slightly darker. "I don't _know_. Why should I know?"

"Dumbledore said he was going to take it back, the next time he…"

Hermione met his eyes. He trailed off.

"…I see."

Lupin got to his feet very quietly, then.

He didn't visit her again.

000000

"Granger."

It was a harsh whisper, in the middle of the night. She was used to strange visits, and strange voices, on occasion, but this particular voice was not one she encountered often, if at all.

She blinked over at a blurry outline in the air. It slowly resolved itself, into a pale, white-blond figure, with a blood-stained lip and a familiar sneer.

"Get up now, Granger. This is no time to be playing around. You've had your sulk, and it's past time we got moving. If you think I'm doing this alone, you've got another thing coming – and it's probably green-tinted and deadly."

Hermione pushed herself out of bed almost mechanically, regarding him with a deceptively calm, analytical exterior.

"Dumbledore is keeping me in reserve," she said, almost conversationally. "As a backup. But he won't let me out to see that Tournament. He doesn't want me getting involved if he can get whatever it is he wants."

Malfoy shrugged. "So use your timeturner."

"It doesn't go _forward_, Malfoy."

He rolled his eyes. "It doesn't have to. Leave now, hide out somewhere until the Task. Timeturn back to take your own place after all this blows over."

Her brow furrowed. That seemed… it had some logic to it, but…

"If you're not able to do it once we're done, there's no point in any of it anyway."

It was true, to an extent.

Hermione set her mind to churning, one last time. Finally, after a long moment, she looked up at him.

"I need a wand," she said. "They took mine away."

He threw her one, as though having anticipated this. It wasn't hers; nor was it his. She wasn't sure she wanted to know where he'd gotten it.

"Let me under that thing," he said, grabbing the chain. "It'll have to be to a point before they knew you were nutso."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, even as she began to flick the timeturner through its turns. "That," she said, "would take years."

And Time, her dear old friend, began to recant itself once again.

000000

"Two days."

"I know. I've been keeping track, I promise you."

"I'll bet. You understand what we're doing here?"

"Not really. It's pretty well over my head, actually."

000000

"Lupin."

A long, terrible pause.

"Severus."

An even longer one.

The potions master's eyes narrowed. "The headmaster says you have research for me. Something I'm supposed to file, or somesuch thing."

Lupin smiled at him tiredly, and took a long sip of his tea. "I seem to have misplaced it." He finished off the cup serenely. "It wasn't my research to begin with, anyway. I was holding it for a friend."

Snape frowned deeply, his displeasure clearly manifest on his features. "What game are you playing? This is important, Lupin. I was told this was our backup plan. It was supposed to go in trust. If things go wrong, you won't be in any position to send it…"

"And you will be?" Lupin closed his eyes, sighing. "I'm very sorry, Severus, but he told me the project had met with an untimely end. Something to do with a fireplace, and various vibrating strings in the tenth dimension, I think." He paused again, to smile wearily. It wasn't without a bit of mischievousness. "A bit over my head, I'm afraid."

Snape stared at him; the long, bony fingers on top of his desk twitched slightly, the only betrayers of any emotion whatsoever.

"Who?" he said finally, his voice rasping in the dungeon. The unspoken words hung in the air, twisting like fire. _This is no game, this is no game, this is no game..._

Lupin stood with some effort, picking up his teacup. "If you can't guess, it means Dumbledore never told you. I can't go against his wishes."

Snape's beetle-glimmer eyes watched him incredulously as he left, shutting the door behind him.

_This is a game. It is the only game that matters._

The corners of Lupin's mouth turned up into a dimly amused, vaguely triumphant smile, as his steps resounded down the dungeon corridor.

Somewhere in conceptualization, a sphere split down the middle.

_The chess board never had just two sides, after all. _

000000

"That's all right. I understand it perfectly."


	31. Inertia

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

I must beg apologies for this very late post. I did indeed have time to write, in between mid-terms... but I forgot _all my material _at home. So while I could have started the chapter over again fresh, it would have been without the benefit of my little timeline, which clarifies all the events for me. Er. That, at least, won't happen again. I've transferred everything to my college laptop now.

In other news, I heard a cry for explanation. Here you are.

The sphere represents Hermione's multiple attempts to patch things up. Her travel back in time the first time would have made a circle, except that it slightly altered the path; in this way, when she went back again, it was again a slightly different circle. Basically, I wanted to find a way to convey that this has happened way too many times, and is more serious than a simple loop would suggest.

As for breaking this little sphere – if you recall, Sirius was asked to work on a little research problem for the headmaster. Hermione assumed he would never figure it out without help, because he wouldn't understand the muggle terms. As it turns out, she does not know everything; he not only uncovered the theory behind changing the time stream, he also figured out what was happening to her. His research was the original starting point – the research that Dumbledore sent the first Hermione. Only this time, he burned the research, and made it effectively unrecoverable. The seriousness of this should not be understated. There will be no more going back in time, if Hermione fails this time. Dumbledore doesn't know how to do it himself, Sirius has blatantly refused the work, and George will never find any research to execute. This is the last time.

As for Donahermurphy's question – I'm afraid this will be the last story, once it's finished. It was originally slated to continue into each successive year, but I found more than one loophole with my plot outline there, and decided that quite a few elements were unneeded. Plus, the characters got away from me a little, and sped things up on their own. The end is going to be about the same as it always was, just in year four. After that, theoretically… college, a novel, a comic, etc will likely take precedence. Theoretically.

The superhero comic we're working on has taken a downward turn, mostly because Heroes came out and depressed us. It's terrible when you start calling TV characters by your own characters' names to remember what they can do. Obviously, they hacked into our laptops and stole characters. Yup. (No, I don't really believe this.) My novel, on the other hand, I've sent out twice now and gotten back rejected with no explanations. So... the guessing game begins. What do I need to change...

But enough rambling about me. I know you all just want to read. Here you are, and a last apology for the lateness.

**Chapter 30 - Inertia**

"_No moral system can rest solely on authority."  
_**-A. J. Ayer**

"Ms. McGonagall?"

The so-named looked up from the papers that had just been turned in ("Advanced Transfiguration of Mayflies: Description of the Ephemeroptera Life Cycle") to regard the teen in front of her. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously when she noted the bright red hair of one Weasley twin or another.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" she asked curtly.

Unlike the other times she'd used that tone of voice, the person on the other end of it actually shifted on his feet, looking nervous.

"...wntedtknow..." He mumbled something very softly, and McGonagall strained forward to make some sense of it.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, but you're going to have to either speak more clearly or leave me to my grading."

He hesitated strangely for a second. Then- "I wanted to know where Hermione Granger is," he blurted out.

McGonagall frowned, very deeply. "Excuse me, Mr. Weasley? I already answered this particular question for Mr. Potter and your brother. She's staying in a private room in the hospital wing, and she is _not_ to be disturbed-"

"She's not in any room in the hospital wing," he interrupted her quickly, looking increasingly nervous. McGonagall paused, eyes narrowing behind her spectacles. Of course he was nervous. He'd just confessed to sneaking into the private rooms. It was probably some sort of Weasley rule, that you never confessed.

"I think it's safe to say," McGonagall responded slowly, pushing her glasses up slightly, "that you are not aware of every secret in this castle. I will, for the moment, pretend that I did not hear what you were mumbling at me. And I will say good day, Mr. Weasley."

The twin stepped back incredulously at this, looking somewhere between shocked and annoyed and concerned. He opened his mouth to protest, but McGonagall cut him off more sharply this time. "Good _day_, Mr. Weasley."

She knew, when he finally turned to head for the door, that he would be looking for Granger regardless. And in this respect, she actually wished him luck.

No one _else_ had been able to find her, after all.

000000

"-and I have told you, more than once, that I do not know where he is," Lupin finished finally, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger with a sigh.

Snape glared at him. "This is not the time for one of your pathetic motley's jokes," he hissed, beetle-like eyes glinting furiously as he leaned in. "If you'll recall what happened the _last_ time your friend the convict decided to be funny-"

"And again, I know as much as you do," Lupin sighed. "What do you want me to do, Severus, take Veritaserum?"

"Yes!" The potions master was breathing hard at this point, infuriated. "In point of fact, I think I shall go get my personal supply!"

Lupin shrugged wearily, leaning on the back of the office's chair. "Then do so. I'm hardly going anywhere until my monthly potion, in any case."

Snape shot him a dirty look that said exactly what he thought of having to make said potion, as he swept out the door. Thoughts of vengeance must have preoccupied him after a fashion, because he didn't catch the slight flash of red that Lupin did.

He waited a moment, patiently, before speaking aloud in the empty potions office. "Eavesdropping is highly rude, Mr. Weasley. Harry. I've always been of the opinion, therefore, that you should be careful not to be caught doing it."

A pair of green eyes blinked around the corner, overtop a slight frown. "He can't use Veritaserum on you," Harry said quietly. "It's illegal."

Lupin shrugged. "The law doesn't cover everyone equally these days. Besides which..." His eyes perused the shelves of the office vaguely, giving away nothing. "Severus is helping me with something at the moment."

"Bat-eared git," Ron mumbled, from behind Harry – just low enough that Lupin either couldn't or wouldn't upbraid him for it.

"And if you'll take my strong advice," Lupin continued, instead. "I would _advise_ that you leave. The consequences of eavesdropping on these matters are more weighty than I think you care to take."

Ron frowned, and opened his mouth to say something slightly on the angry side, but Harry grabbed his arm to hush him. "Yes sir."

The two of them disappeared around the corner, just before the potions master in black returned, with two potions.

"You'll take the serum first," Snape said with a scowl, thrusting a mixture toward him. Lupin shrugged once more, and took it from him easily. Snape's scowl only grew as the other teacher took the potion in one long swallow – he was quite used to bad tasting things by now.

"Sit." Snape gestured curtly at the chair that Lupin currently leaned on – he was obeyed after a moment. Lupin stretched one leg out slightly, wincing at the pain in one of his joints.

"Now..." A pause. Snape turned, and shut the door, before sitting down himself. "Where is Sirius Black." Said in a low tone.

Lupin sighed. "I don't know."

Snape's eyes narrowed. Then, he said- "Give me your best educated guess."

There was another long pause, during which time Lupin looked thoughtful, in a slightly glazed way. "Ah," he said softly. "There we are."

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched slightly. "_Yes,_ Lupin?"

"He'll have gone after Miss Granger, I expect."

The faraway look in Lupin's eyes was matched by an incredulous expression from Severus Snape. "_Why?_"

"To keep her from getting killed. Or worse. I'm sure it could be worse." Lupin blinked sleepily a few times. "I do believe I'm not supposed to know about a few things concerning her. Dumbledore would be unhappy should you continue asking questions in this vein." He picked up the other potion, toasting him. "Merely a helpful suggestion." And he threw this one back, as well. "Perhaps on another, unrelated thread of conversation? Any other questions?"

Snape let out a low growl, the edge of his mouth twitching furiously now. "Yes. Is it the lycanthropy that makes you such a bastard?"

Lupin smiled dreamily. "Oh no. That took years of practice."

In the meantime, Harry stepped back quietly from the closed door, and looked over at Ron, who grinned. The two of them headed quietly out of the potions classroom.

"Good advice," Ron commented. "The whole 'don't get caught'. Glad we took it."

Harry adjusted his glasses slightly. "Funny, I don't think he _actually_ thought we'd use it."

Ron nodded, pulling a hand through his messy hair as he stepped quickly through the hall. "Would've been better if we'd actually _learned_ something." He paused at a wall, eyeing it for a second, counting on his fingers...

"Once more," Harry told him, stepping past. He walked for the end of the hall, turning with hands in his pockets. Ron followed, until they'd come around again, to the same wall. This time, though, there was a door.

"Just annoying, is what it is," Ron grumbled, pulling it open.

As they stepped in, and Harry closed the door quietly behind them, a quiet voice spoke from the air. "We're good, then?"

Harry nodded toward empty space. "If he knows, he's good at dodging questions."

Sirius pulled off the cloak, rubbing at one cheek. "Moony always was a canny bastard... it's a good bet Snape didn't ask the right questions anyway." His mouth twitched slightly. "He should have asked if Moony knew where I _would _be..."

"We're still doing it, then?" Ron said.

Sirius nodded grimly. His fingers itched to close over the rather worrying object in his pocket, but he stopped himself and looked over at Harry instead. "You remember the timing? Before the maze, but not until Karkaroff and Maxime leave." Then at Ron: "You're sure you can pull off a Veela?"

Ron groaned. "Yes. God, the things I do for Hermione..." The tone was carefully masking some amount of worry.

"She'll be fine," Sirius said, not at all convinced himself. "But as for your accent, just... don't talk a lot."

"Bouillabaisse my arse," Ron muttered.

"Exactly," Harry agreed.

000000

The house was old and dark, and nearly falling to pieces if you looked at it the wrong way. The sun was dipping below the horizon, slowly, bathing it in an ill-boding red light.

Two people that didn't exist stood right in front of the door. People walked past them easily in the dying light, noticing neither the strange way they dressed nor the uncanny way the girl seemed to be analyzing the house.

"Maybe you ought to stay outside, Granger." A roll of the eyes. "You'll get yourself cursed five different ways before we even get up the stairs."

She shook her head, pulling at one chestnut lock of hair. "I remember some of them. We had to help clear it out." A pause. "Besides, I know where it is. Avoiding any unexpected pitfalls, it'll be a short walk."

Malfoy looked upward, craning his neck slightly and shading his eyes with one hand. "You're sounding surprisingly sane for an insane girl."

"Give her time. I'm sure she'll be back." Hermione stepped forward, waving one hand – as though to brush away some imaginary wind that pushed at her. "Now if I... remember... correctly." She knelt down next to the rotted old welcome mat – her fingertips swept the air just above it, though they didn't actually touch. "Dark wizards seem to love irony," she muttered.

"Absolutely. It's how we get our kicks, when we're not torturing muggles or plotting to take over the world." Malfoy continued scanning a few of the windows, eyes flicking between them. He seemed to be taking a sort of mental checklist. "Besides, we're all English here."

Hermione's fingers ended their tracing, then, and she nodded, taking out her wand. _Welcome mat indeed._

"We'll be here all night on that one," Malfoy observed, rolling up one sleeve unhappily. "The counter-curse requires a delicate touch-"

"_Wingardium Leviosa."_ The mat lifted itself gently from the ground – it floated itself sideways, until it was leaning neatly against the wall.

Malfoy scowled, but said nothing as she headed up to the door.

"They tried the counter-curse last time, too," Hermione shrugged. "It was an hour before Sir-" She cut herself off abruptly.

Malfoy raised one pale eyebrow, as though waiting for her to continue. She shook her head, and turned back to the door. After a perusal of it, and a few jabs with her wand, she reached for the doorknob-

"Are you blind, Granger?" Malfoy's hand shot out to stop her, his fingers digging into her wrist.

She looked back at him, opening her mouth to snap something back, but thought better of it and followed his eyes instead. There was a faint rune at the bottom corner of the door, traced into the failing wood. A trigger for something bigger.

Hermione stepped back slowly; his hand let go, and she rubbed at her wrist a little, hoping there wouldn't be bruises later. Malfoy elbowed her aside, and knelt down, tracing the symbol with his wand and muttering under his breath.

He stopped. Stared at it. Waited.

After a few seconds, she sighed and got down carefully to one knee as well. "It might be a decoy. There are a few of those."

Malfoy looked over at her with a face that said volumes – but just for the hell of it, he said: "Do _you_ want to try it?"

Hermione glanced back at the symbol on the door. "Point taken."

He traced it again, still murmuring in quiet tones. She could hear a few more of the words this time – some of them, she recognized. Others, she knew she'd heard before. A very few, though, were entirely foreign to her, and she had the feeling that she didn't really _want _to know what they meant.

_They're used for stripping down your skin..._

Hermione suddenly stood, stepping back from him. Her breathing sped up slightly, as she clamped down on the voice. It always sounded so much like _her _that it took a moment to distinguish...

_Just trying to help._

It was both a murmur and an echo – an involuntary thought. As though her head were a piece of territory, and she was taking turns using it.

Malfoy let out a frustrated hiss of breath, and nearly threw his wand to the ground. He caught himself, though, and slipped it back up his sleeve instead. Standing - "I don't know."

Hermione chewed at her lip, trying not to teeter over into a full-blown panic attack. She still felt so unstable, only it was so easy not to show...

"It wouldn't be hidden in the corner of the door if they wanted people to avoid it," she reasoned.

"So we take a different route," Malfoy said, calming himself forcibly. He glanced up at the windows again. "Got a broom handy?"

"No," Hermione said, already thinking. "But I can make one, perhaps. Temporarily." She took a moment to press back down the fluttering in her chest before nodding toward the twisted tree at the side of the house. "One of the branches, maybe. It'll be a little tricky, but I..." She trailed off as he slashed at the tree with his wand, a red gash following it through the air. A hand went, subconsciously, to her chest.

"The one directly above the door," he told her.

Hermione swallowed, and took it from him, plucking a few twigs from the main branch. It wasn't going to be terribly stable, but if she levitated it as well...

Well, first things first.

"You're sure no one's in residence right now?" Malfoy asked, as she sat down to work on the branch.

"No one but a crazy House Elf," Hermione muttered.

000000

She was wrong, in a way. There was more than one house elf in residence.

Malfoy nearly lost his balance as they came through the window, though not because he wasn't a dexterous little ferret. No, it had more to do with the dozen pairs of dead eyes, directed his way.

"Merlin!" he swore. "What- _Merlin!_"

Hermione carefully avoided looking at the wall, where the House Elf heads had been mounted. She kept a good grip on his wrist, though, as he caught his sensibilities.

"Most noble House of Black," she murmured, steadying herself on their perch. "Don't worry about it. We're only here for one thing."

"Don't worry about it?" he asked incredulously. "Don't _worry _about it? There's a bunch of – of _heads_-"

"Yes, I know," she snapped. "Horrible taste in decor, isn't it? They ought to have matched colors."

Part of her was horrified at what she'd said; but the rest, clinging to sanity, could only remind her that what was important was her own head, still on her shoulders. The less sane bits busied themselves trying to dredge up everything she'd ever seen that was worse.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, she said: "We're not here to clean the house up. We just- have to ignore everything else. For now."

"Well now we _know_ Black belonged in Azkaban," Malfoy muttered, shaking slightly as he took careful hold of the sill to start climbing down. Hermione stiffened, and did her best not to say anything.

It was an edgy walk up the stairs, when they got down – even the dim light of the setting sun was smothered by the house's atmosphere, so that it already seemed an eerie night inside its walls. The little light that did get through was blood red, and hardly comforting in what it illuminated.

"No taste," Malfoy kept muttering under his breath. "No taste at all..."

It seemed incredible to him that any wizard would live in such a disgusting place, with so much money available to them.

"Insanity," Hermione said back, teeth on edge. "It's what comes of inbreeding." It seemed an appropriate response, considering Sirius had said it himself.

Malfoy turned on her, eyes flashing. "I'll have you know, Mudblood-"

"Be quiet," she hissed back, "or you'll wake your dear old Aunt."

This gave him pause for a moment, and she took the opportunity to sweep by. The last thing they needed was for that screaming portrait to wake up whatever creatures had since infested the house.

"Granger," he said suddenly.

She ignored him.

"_Granger-_"

There was a rusty squeal, at the edge of her hearing, and the flash of something quick from the large old Grandfather clock. Something hit her hard in the stomach, like a punch, and she lost her breath, dropping to her knees.

"_Incendio!"_ Malfoy's voice rang strangely in her ears – it took a moment for her to realize that it was because she'd tumbled over onto her stomach, and hit her head. The hiss of crackling fire was followed by a repetition of the same spell, before she felt herself being turned over quickly. There was something warm dribbling out onto her hands, where she held herself. There was also something long, thin, and cold, which shifted slightly as she was moved. She bit down the slurred cry that threatened to come out.

"Don't listen, do you, you little Mudblood-" His voice was less malicious than panicked, though. She could hear the undertone, the horrified grasping for thought, the repeating, wild question that would be running through his mind: _what do I do, what do I do-_

She tried to tell him to stop shifting her around (perhaps with a more colorful vocabulary) but the worry began to set in on her as well when she realized she was coughing out blood instead.

He made an attempt at a minor healing spell – something they'd only been taught that year – but she noted dimly that his pronunciation was off, and he'd probably done the wand sequence wrong in any case. She distinctly recalled that he'd spent half that class trying to get a rise out of Ron, and mostly succeeding.

Hermione gave another gasping cough, and this time, the pain in her stomach became clearer; a debilitating stab with every breath.

_I'm going to die,_ she thought wildly. _After all of that, I'm going to die here..._

"You're not going to die – you are _not _going to die-" It was a desperate command, punctuated by a shaking of her shoulders. "You're not leaving me in this fucked up house alone!"

She gasped as he jolted her again. _Stop it, you idiot, don't you know even basic first aid..._

Well no, of course he wouldn't.

Hermione closed her eyes, and curled in on herself, pulling at the rusty bolt with blood-slick hands. It began to slide out – much, much too slowly – and she had to stop with a coughing whimper.

Malfoy hissed his breath out through his teeth, wand tight in one hand. Then- "_Petrificus Totalus."_

She felt her body freeze in position, her jaw locking on the pain.

_What the hell is he doing?_

Was he betraying her now? Was he going to turn her over to- to whoever, now that she was dying anyway?

_It's an emergency tactic,_ the other Hermione whispered in her mind. _We used it all the time, in the war, it freezes everything..._

She wasn't bleeding anymore.

Malfoy was letting out an impressive stream of curse words now, of the non-magical kind. "Got any bright ideas?" he asked her, pulling at his bangs frustratedly. "Oh wait, never mind. I can't ask you, you're fucking _frozen!_" He barely kept himself from hitting one of the nearby walls. God only knew what an action like _that _would stir up. "What, you want me to take you to St. Mungo's? _How'd she get a crossbow bolt in her stomach, and why are you bringing her in, Mr. Malfoy, and why were you two off campus, and _why is she in two places at once?" He sat down abruptly, breathing heavily. She could tell her was on the edge of hysteria, if not there already. "They'll put us both in fucking Azkaban!"

Hermione, entirely unable to speak, could only think of how much she suddenly wanted Sirius there.

_Why didn't I bring him? s_he thought dimly, wanting to cry. _He would have believed me, if I told him... he would have come..._

It had been an irrational decision. He would have been a great help, she knew, with everything – it was his _house_ – but she hadn't wanted him involved. She wanted him far, far away from everything involving the Dark Lord, and she wanted him to live this time.

Her slitted eyes caught a glint of silver, on her thumb. Had she been able to move at all, she might have laughed.

_I should have kissed him, _she thought.

Malfoy was holding his head in his hands, in a fit of self-pity. All things considered, Hermione imagined she had it the worse of the two of them.

"Maybe I can steal something from the Hospital Wing," he was muttering. "But then I'd have to leave you somewhere – not sure what they'd do if they caught me – god, fuck, fuck, fuck -"

Everything felt so dim.

_Should have kissed him._

And though her eyes couldn't close, she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness.

000000

"Yes, Severus?"

The potions master stopped in the doorway of the headmaster's office, lip curled slightly.

"No Black." A pause, suspicious. "And no Granger."

Dumbledore sighed.

"I was afraid of that," he murmured softly.


	32. Of the Essence

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

This is more of an add-on to the last chapter than anything else, which is why I'm posting them together. It's a short interlude between a small timeskip, and it will probably explain an inordinate amount to the canny people. You canny people, you.

**Chapter 31 – Of the Essence**

"_The trouble with our times is that the future is not what it used to be."_**  
-Paul Valery**

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

There was the usual snide curl to Malfoy's mouth as he passed, to head into Potions.

He paused, though, momentarily. A little unpleasant upturn to his mouth.

"I suppose you're perfectly ready for your last fanfare? We have a bet going in Slytherin, as to what state your body will be in when they pull you out of that maze." A nice, dramatic pause. "I've put a good number of galleons on some kind of facial scarring. You seem good at that."

Ron rolled his eyes as he passed. "Come on, Harry, ignore him. He just wishes he were going in himself."

Normally, Harry would have expected Malfoy to sneer at this, or to stiffen, or at least to make some sort of malicious response commenting on Ron's heritage. But this time, he only laughed, and shook his head, as though Ron had made some sort of terrible joke.

"Creepy little ferret," Ron muttered, as they went to their seats. He wasn't able to say much else, though, before Snape began speaking.

"Today, _class_, we will be working with very unstable ingredients. I will begin by making sure you are aware of the dangers of these oils, but I _fully _expect that at least three of you will end up in the Hospital Wing by the end of this lesson as a result of your _not paying attention._" The last bit was snapped off, and aimed at poor Neville in particular, who seemed to be worrying at Hermione's sudden absence.

"He's doomed, I expect," Ron said sympathetically. Thankfully, Snape seemed not to have heard him, as he went on to make dire warnings on the improper use of explosive and acidic compounds, most of which sounded unnervingly dangerous.

Malfoy, Harry began to notice, looked uncommonly cheerful. He'd never before seen him so blatantly heedless of a teacher, let alone of _Snape._ He frowned at the sudden vision of himself, heading out of the maze with new and interested scars across his face.

Though, in truth, Sirius had warned him that more potent consequences were possible.

He gave a sigh as he remembered that Hermione was probably going to get involved as well. She usually did – but then, she was usually with him and Ron, and they usually worked together. The unbeatable trio.

Now she was gone, and his best hope was that her rather encyclopedic memory was keeping her safe.

000000

Sirius leaned heavily against the wall of a cave just upwards of Hogsmeade. He wasn't sure where Dumbledore expected him to be, or even whether the old man had caught on to how much he'd figured out.

He had figured out an unfortunate amount, after all.

His hand brushed absently over a red and gold scarf. It was warm, uncommonly so, and it gave him pause to think that he'd never checked it for spells other than the one he'd been told of.

That research – the research he had nearly given up, the research that would have somehow found its way to her... the implications were unfortunate. He couldn't be sure of the particulars, and it had been still incomplete when he'd burned it, but a cold knot in his stomach made him certain that it had been used. It was the nature of that sort of research to be used, even though he'd never shown it to another living soul.

Would she have used it?

The answer seemed clear. And that made everything, before and after this moment, entirely his fault.

"Idiot," he muttered, pressing his palm to his forehead. "You idiot." He wasn't sure whether he was referring to her, or to himself. Possibly both.

His other hand went to his pocket, and his fingers found a delicate, fluid little chain, threading through it gently. The hourglass on the end was cold, had been cold since the moment he'd found it. It had been sitting there very innocently, on the table of a room only a few people in this world knew how to get into. There had been a short note along with it.

_At the center of the maze._

No signature.

So Hermione had left it here, in his keeping – for what purpose? She clearly expected him to give it back to her, at the Third Task. During the Third Task. But why not travel back, first, and take her own place? Why not forestall the attempts Dumbledore had been making to locate her?

Unless something went wrong. Unless the time came and she was unable to come back. The thought chilled him, as he sat down heavily.

Worse... what if she were unable even to meet him? He'd no idea where she was. She didn't show up anywhere on the map, and he'd already scoured Hogsmeade for any sign of her. Perhaps he shouldn't have expected to have any more luck at it than Dumbledore, but then, he had _hoped._

He gave a last glance to the cool, curved glass in his hand; a glare, almost, the knowledge that it had precipitated things that should never have happened.

Sirius wondered, in the falling darkness, whether she had actually done it. And if she had, where she had hidden that little sliver of her soul.

The irony of the situation, very understandably, was lost on him.

000000

There was blood on the floor of Grimmauld Place.

It wasn't particularly out of place when you considered the particular tone of the house, though it had been quite some years since its glory days. Kreacher felt almost nostalgic for a moment, as he remembered having to clean up bigger puddles than this, upwards of two – no, three! - times a week.

But no, it had been some time indeed, and this damp, crimson stain was very new.

Even Kreacher's fading eyes caught the drip-drip trail that led from the original stain. He followed it carefully, a little limp in one foot where a Doxie had bitten him the other day. Oh yes, the Master would be _well_ greeted when he returned, the filthy, mudblood-loving traitor...

The drops led around the corner to a room where the door had been blasted clear off its hinges. Kreacher frowned at the thought of having to replace it, and this frown only deepened when he realized that more than one of the wards inside the room had been disarmed. It was particularly disheartening to see that they had been done with a very inelegant 'brute force' method, as it were.

And no bodies? There should have been bodies, at least one. The room was unhappily body-free, though there was a second splash of blood on one of the tapestries, which had held a rather ingenious blade-sharp curse.

"What, here to paint more things black?" said a voice from the far wall. Kreacher saw one of the portraits shifting, an ancestor with a smart goatee peering down at him with condescension.

"Kreacher is cleaning up after intruders," the House Elf replied with a grumble. "Kreacher hopes that they are dead, the little thieves, the nasty people... they will be hurting, he hopes, and bleeding, wherever they are."

"Surely," Nigellus told him dryly. "Though it seems they got what they came for."

Kreacher eyed the portrait suspiciously for a moment, before looking more closely at the room. Nothing had truly been disturbed, other than the traps and wards, though a few drawers were slightly ajar, and a cabinet at the far wall had less dust than the rest of the room...

The House Elf let out a loud wail as he realized what had gone missing.


	33. A Lengthy Hour

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

This may be a bit short - forgive me. I'm working on it slowly but surely. We're in the home stretch.**  
**

**Chapter 32 – A Lengthy Hour**

_"Who knows but the world may end tonight."_**  
-Robert Browning**

"You'll do fine, Harry. No dragons this time." Fred gave him an attempt at a grin.

"Sure he will," Ron agreed. "He's got it all planned out. Don't you, Harry?"

At this, for some reason, Harry shot him an expression with raised eyebrows. Something Fred might have recognized any other time as a 'shut up, why don't you' face.

"Come on now," Lupin said to Fred, slipping into the tent. "It's getting toward the start. You'll have to run if you want good seats." This was his polite way of saying 'please clear the area so we can get started'.

Krum looked up from a guttural discussion with Karkaroff, nodding at the teacher. "Ve are ready?"

Lupin paused for a moment, taking a look at Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, and one father who hadn't yet vacated the area.

"Cup's as good as yours," Amos Diggory said quickly, patting his son on the back as he caught the glance in his direction. Then, stopping by Harry, he gave a friendly nod.

"If the rest of you would leave," Lupin said, glancing at the two international teachers. "We'll be able to give the instructions."

Maxime looked almost offended for a moment, but Karkaroff seemed to have been expecting this. He rose from his corner with what might have been a superior look at Maxime and her pupil. No, it most likely was.

"May the best champion win," he muttered unconvincingly, as he too passed Harry by. Harry, for his part, merely blinked, and looked over at Krum once his back was turned. Krum shrugged noncommittally.

Lupin nodded, once the adults were gone. "In which case, I'll now give what instructions you need, while Mr. Crouch explains to your audience-"

"_Petrificus Totalus._"

Harry winced as Sirius' now-familiar voice sounded from behind him. Lupin stiffened in mid sentence, shocked – but when his body fell, it was in an exaggerated way, as though lowered by an invisible hand.

"What the devil-" Cedric was already pulling his wand, while Fleur tried to aim somewhere in the vicinity of the voice with a hurried '_Stupefy!_'.

The red streak caught the edge of something invisible, but instead of disappearing with a hit, it deflected off into the ground, as a second voice countered with _Protego._

Cedric had finally gotten his wand out. "_Finite_-"

"_Stupefy!_"

Two voices sounded at once. Neither of them came from under an invisibility cloak.

Cedric's eyes glazed over, while Fleur merely toppled from her seat.

"Ve vill need to use the cloak on them?" Krum asked. Then, with a glance at Lupin, on the ground. "Will they not be suspicious of his being gone?"

"He won't be gone," Sirius said, sounding closer this time. "You know how to do a decent Confundus? Mine are terrible."

Krum nodded uneasily, glancing over at Lupin. "I can do this. I vill haff to apologize later."

"You and me both," Sirius muttered, pulling off the cloak and throwing it to Harry. "Immobilize them first, before they get their senses." Ron, beside him, headed over to Fleur, whom he very carefully began to move beneath a table. _Sorry, sorry, sorry_, he hissed under his breath.

"Polyjuice," Sirius said, pulling two vials from his robe. "That means we've got one hour. Though I don't think it should be a problem, once we're actually inside the maze."

"You never really know," Ron said, eyeing the lock of silvery hair miserably. "Are you sure this is a good idea? When Hermione took the cat hair, it went really wrong, and Fleur's part bird-thing..."

"That's why yours has the- sorry-" Sirius eyed the two vials for a moment. Then, picked one to hand to Ron. "That's why _yours_ has the alterations."

Ron gave him a clearly suspicious look. "You're sure this is the right one?"

Sirius patted him on the shoulder, as he went to flick a lock of Cedric's hair off with his wand. "Absolutely." Not really. He'd made the alterations up. After all, a Veela was still, er, _humanoid_, technically, and she was only part Veela...

"If I start moulting, I'm coming to get you before – before we deal with whatever."

Sirius glanced over at Krum. "I confounded you, if they ask."

The Bulgarian shrugged. "Perhaps it vill not come to that." He raised his wand over Lupin with a last, vaguely unhappy expression.

"Bottoms up," Sirius said to Ron.

Harry, knowing what to expect of Polyjuice Potion, turned to look away as the transformations began. Krum, not as well-informed, took a second longer.

"We've got one hour," said Cedric's voice.

000000

"You shouldn't be moving."

It was an observation of fact, and not a suggestion. There was no way she should have been moving right now.

"I keep doing a lot of things I shouldn't-" Hermione broke off with a cough. A weak glance at her hand, and she wiped the blood off somewhere beneath her robes.

"You're bleeding through the bandages already," Malfoy further noted, a sick kind of fascination in his voice. Hermione glanced at him, and opened her mouth to say something, but changed her mind soon after. Her face was ghostly pale, from the blood loss. She'd required help moving for the past half a day.

She hadn't thought she would live half a day.

"Your stitches are probably coming undone," she said finally, pressing a hand very, very delicately to the deep puncture in her stomach. A wince. "I doubt you've ever picked up a needle in your life."

"Wouldn't you believe it," Malfoy said. "I did once. Once." He was talking in a very subdued voice now, and mostly just to fill up empty space between words. Had he ever seen that much blood before? Had he ever seen anyone die? These were questions she both did and didn't want to know the answers to. Regardless of the answers, it had become clear that he wasn't very levelheaded around blood, and had he been able to admit it to himself, he probably would have already made her swear to secrecy.

They came to the bottom of the large hill soon enough – it had been visible from a few miles away. Its old, dreary capstone was a large mansion, which rose to a sharpened point against the sky.

Hermione sighed, and let go of Malfoy, swaying a little in the process. The situation had never had a chance to become humiliating, considering the urgency they were in, so she didn't think on it much. It did surprise her, dimly, that he didn't comment on the bloodstains she'd left on his robes. Perhaps he already knew how he was going to get them out. Or perhaps he simply didn't want to think about it.

"There's something I need in the house," she said. "But you don't want to come with me for it. I'll be headed to the graveyard directly after."

He stared at her. His face went from skeptical to incredulous in a heartbeat. "You won't manage two steps on your own," he told her.

"Voldemort will be there," she said, and she caught the flinch in his face as she said the name.

"You can't be serious," he said. "You told me we'd be disrupting the cup, you said nothing about actually _facing _him-"

"Which is why you won't come with me," she said, much more calmly than she felt. "Because you don't want to take sides. Which is patently ridiculous, considering that you've helped me pick up one of his five remaining horcruxes already."

His face went almost as pale as hers, as she pulled the locket from one of the inside pockets of her robe.

"You didn't tell me," he said hoarsely. "You didn't even mention, you just said it was important-"

"It is," she said. She felt her eyes harden, as warm blood dripped its way down her side. "He's killed people I love. Multiple times. Just because they're not dead now doesn't make it any better. I'm going to kill him this time."

Malfoy was breathing hard, now – she saw him considering his wand, in his sleeve pocket, even though he'd made no move for it yet. She watched him quietly for a moment, before she spoke.

"He's killed you too. More than once."

He looked ready to faint. "You're lying," he said weakly. "You're trying to get me to do something, and you're lying."

"Once because you tried to hide from him," she said. "Once because you displeased him. There may have been another. I can't remember clearly."

She saw belief in his face, and self-loathing, and fear. But she knew he wasn't going to follow her. She'd known it from the beginning, simply because of who he was.

"I don't believe you," he said, in spite of the obvious. "And you're not walking yourself straight to him like a present. I'll kill you first."

Hermione smiled grimly, showing her teeth. She imagined she must have looked very frightening, all gaunt and white, with the red stains on her teeth. "I'm already dying, Malfoy. I just want to take as much of him with me as I can." She reached for his arm, closing unsteady fingers around the place where his wand was hidden. "But if you think it's necessary, go ahead."

She said it only because she knew what a coward he was. And because some very horrible, vindictive part of her wanted him to know it too.

Malfoy stared into her eyes for a moment, and she looked back at him calmly. He must have seen something he didn't like, because a moment later, he was stumbling back.

Hermione felt suddenly very conscious of herself. Aware of the horrific pleasure she'd been taking in his discomfort. She turned, holding at her stomach as she stared up the imposing slope of the hill. "I could take you back with the timeturner," she said, almost apologetically. "But I wouldn't last the few days of waiting."

There was a pause, filled with the silence of hurried thought. "I'll go back alone," he said, and she flinched at the idea.

"No," she said, almost immediately. "I- I _need_ it-" But somewhere in her dimly swimming thoughts came the other voice, or one of them... perhaps her own, even.

_Repercussions. He'll be killed if you don't, one way or another..._

Her fingers crept toward the chain around her neck, trembling.

_...and I'm dying anyway._

"Take it," she said, but she didn't have the will to pull it off herself. It seemed like such a very long time since she'd last taken it off. It had, in many ways, become a part of her.

Malfoy seemed just as loathe to touch the timeturner – more because it involved touching _her –_ but self preservation overruled that faint fear, and after a moment, his fingers hooked the chain. It dragged up over her head, and she felt a sudden sense of loss as the metal left her skin.

He averted his eyes, unlooping it from his wrist and settling it about his neck. Delicate gold against strangely pale skin. "...see you later, Granger."

She felt the slow ooze of blood beneath her fingertips.

"...be good, Malfoy."

It was probably the most polite exchange they'd ever managed.

He seemed to think about saying something else, but the finality of things stopped him. Instead, he nodded a little – and the timeturner flick-flicked around, a little clumsier than she would have done.

She stared at the spot he'd occupied for a very long time, before turning to face the hill once again.

000000

There was a crossroads of sorts, before the final gasp.

It happened with a few important meetings – things that could have gone wrong, could have started things over all over again, but didn't.

"They're into the maze," Lupin said, as he sat down next to Dumbledore, a little tiredly. "It's going very smoothly so far. I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Mr. Black is probably wearing more than two of those shoes tonight," Dumbledore responded, with a gently ironic note to his voice.

Lupin's brow furrowed for a moment, puzzlement evident on his face. The moment passed, though, and he nodded. "I'd expect nothing less."

In another place, deep in the corridors of the changing maze, there was another world-shaking encounter that would be largely overlooked.

"I think we're nearly there," Cedric's voice said. Harry hurried to keep up, trying to keep his eyes on the roots that kept trying to trip his feet. He nearly ran into the disguised convict, as he stopped abruptly.

"_Expelliarmus._"

Harry's wand flew a very neat arc, as Cedric's figure turned. His questioning look turned to one of shock.

"I _am _your godfather," explained the voice, sad and patient. "And my first duty here is to keep you out of whatever trouble is up there."

"_Petrificus Totalus._"

The Boy Who Lived was only halfway aware of the lock of hair that got snipped from his forehead.

A moment later, red sparks went up.

000000

The last crucial meeting was the quietest of all.

"I had a feeling," Malfoy muttered, staring at the other person in his dormitory.

"You didn't go back all the way," the other Malfoy said, leaning on his bed. "You weren't planning to anyway." A pause. "You want to know how it all ends."

"Isn't there something cosmically wrong with meeting yourself, or something?" the first one asked.

A shake of the head from his double. "Not as far as I know. I haven't much to say, though. Just that you'd better head out to the pitch to watch things. I'm expected to be there."

Malfoy turned to leave, the glimmer of gold at his neck disappearing into his robes. The other, older by a few days, turned over to go back to sleep.

000000

At the center of the maze, at the end of a very strange hour, Harry Potter's form waited patiently for Hermione Granger to show herself.

He couldn't wait forever, he knew. Any number of things were teetering on the edge of going wrong. The fact she hadn't showed yet did bad things to his confidence, which had always been a little on the side of foolhardy. She could be dead, or dying, or captured, or – any number of things. A look at the Marauder's Map, though, showed that she was nowhere in the vicinity.

The only reason she would have insisted on the center of the maze was if something were going to happen there. He expected it would involve Harry – it always involved Harry, and the tournament was the perfect time to strike at him. But here he was, the most tempting target in the world, and nothing had happened yet.

Sirius looked down at the timeturner around his neck, and frowned. He knew it was hers. He'd no real way to tell, but he knew it in a way he couldn't quite explain. And every time he touched it, he found himself with strangely wistful feelings – helpless longing, wishes for things he couldn't explain.

He drew one fingertip along the glass, expecting more of the same. Instead, he froze, as an overwhelming realization hit him.

_The cup._

It was like a whisper – incredibly far off, and close to him, all at once.

Sirius looked sharply at the prize cup. It glimmered faintly, triumphant but unmenacing.

He nearly put it down to nerves, as he tucked the little golden hourglass back into his robes. But there again came the overwhelming certainty – it _was_ the cup. The ultimate temptation, calling to the champion that shouldn't have been.

It was that combination of strange fate and overwhelming worry that stretched his hand out to touch it.

It was all confirmed, as an unseen hook jerked into place behind his navel.


	34. Judgment

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

Oh dear. What tangled timelines we weave, when first we practice ridiculous, semi-pseudo-magic-scientific fanfiction.

I'll set it out as best I can, for those confused.

In the original timeline – the same as the books – Hermione eventually ends up making a Horcrux, either through George's intervention or otherwise. She goes back in time, and changes things. They don't turn out the way she wants them to, so another Horcrux is made (from the same timeturner – don't think too hard, it's necessary) and she goes back again. This continues an undetermined number of times, until the present attempt is reached. This is the last time, one way or another, though, as all the research has been burned. Another time would require that Hermione actively choose to murder someone. It would also require that she not be dying.

As for Malfoy: Malfoy said he was going to go back and take his own place, from the moment Hermione and he left Hogwarts. He lied. He only went back far enough to get to the pitch in time for the tournament. After seeing the outcome, he'll head back to the moment they both disappeared, as promised, so that only Hermione is noticed gone. This is why he met himself.

Also... I will be killed for this chapter. I am aware. I am aware. Also? It hasn't been beta'd. I couldn't find one at 5:40 am for some weird reason. I decided people would hate me just as much either way.

I'll be hiding in my fallout shelter.

**Chapter 33 – Judgment**

_"The helplessness is tremendous. And this affair will only be brought to completion through immense struggle. There will be fighting and violence and war."  
_**-Olympiodorus the Alchemist**

The Triwizard Cup was largely ruined, and no one knew quite why.

Rumors were flying through the air of the pitch; whispers so numerous as to cause a small thunder of panicked gossip. Harry Potter had been attacked by another champion – Cedric Diggory had gone mad. No, actually, he'd somehow mortally offended Fleur Delacour- or had Krum gone and shown his true colors? It was a heated debate with some, worsened considerably by the fact that no one had bothered to ask anyone in authority yet.

Lupin had been the one to return with him. Subsequently, he'd stood before the crowd, white-faced, and declared only that Harry Potter had officially forfeited.

The strange part, of course, was the fact that Harry had utterly refused to speak a word about _why_ he had been found in a full body bind. This gave Lupin certain suspicions, which Dumbledore was clearly echoing.

The strang_est _part, though, was the little echo in the defense teacher's head. The one that went something like this:

"_You're going to have to obliviate this, Padfoot."_

"_What? I thought you would help! Besides, I'm horrible at memory charms!"_

"_Trust me, I'm the planner. There's going to be veritaserum involved."_

"_But-"_

"_It doesn't have to last. Besides, even you can't screw up on a voluntary subject."_

He wondered, dimly, whether he'd _really _told Sirius to confound him. Because that was honestly just asking for trouble, considering his sloppy wand work.

Lupin sighed, pulling Harry aside under Dumbledore's watchful eyes. He hoped the man couldn't read lips, as he pulled out some chocolate for the boy.

"He changed it, didn't he?" Another sigh, pained. "It's a habit of his. I should have remembered. I always plan, and he _always _changes it at the last minute."

Harry shook his head very slightly, unhappily, taking an almost violent bite out of the chocolate bar. "His memory charms really are horrible, aren't they?" he asked halfheartedly, between bites.

Lupin glanced over the high walls of the maze with a reluctant tugging at his mouth. "Would you believe I was planning on it?" he said.

000000

No one's plans were going... well, according to plan.

The snake was there – she'd been counting on that. She could tell it was there because there was a fire going, in the room upstairs. There would be – it needed heat, and the sun was almost gone.

The hitch in that otherwise brilliant, hastily thought-out plan, was that she was barely on her feet. Climbing the hill was one thing, but the stairs were entirely another. Hermione knew, with a staggering amount of certainty, that she wouldn't be able to manage that climb. Certainly not in any condition to take on a giant snake.

And her timeturner was gone. She wasn't sure why that made such a ridiculous difference, but it did. The voices were no longer in her head, but neither were they there to prod her, to guide her, to inflame her. There was only a very young Hermione left, with some incredibly unpleasant memories, and an already quavering purpose.

Laying down to die had never sounded so beautiful before. It was going to happen eventually, and she was so _tired_, and this strange battle of hers had drawn on for so very long.

"I can't do this," she whispered, leaning against the bottom of the stairs.

She'd learned to expect a response. Waited for it hopefully.

There was none.

She slid to her knees, until her arms could fold on a stair. And then, she pressed her forehead to the wood, and waited to die.

000000

If he had been a little more used to the form; a little more informed; a little less disoriented – it might not have happened.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

But it did.

Sirius staggered back a little bit at the force of it – this body was light, and the person who had cast the spell at him had the strength of pure, unadulterated madness behind it. Quite a few of Voldemort's followers were mad. It seemed to be an affectation of the position. This one had the crazed light of lunacy shining out from behind his wild eyes – his hair was stringy and tumbled, and his limbs were emaciated in a familiar way, beneath the swath of dark clothing that he wore.

_Crouch_, he thought, recognizing the man before the landscape. The other man was supposed to be long-dead, but that was hardly a matter for consideration at the moment. Instead of thinking on it too much, he threw himself to one side, hoping to avoid any follow-up spells. There was cover available in spades; he only recognized his protection as a tombstone, though, when his fingers ghosted over an indentation in its stone. _RIP._

"Come on out, Potter," rasped Crouch, his eyes darting this way and that. It seemed a nervous habit instead of any real confusion. He certainly knew where Sirius was.

But, came the thought, he didn't know _who_ Sirius was. That made him feel... well, not much better, but a little justified.

"_Incendio!"_

It hit the edge of the tombstone, sending a small scatter of old stone and dust over him. It was meant to startle him, to make him bolt, but he knew the trick. He kept his back firmly against the stone, thinking quickly through his dwindling options. Clearly, plan number one – signal the others – was _not _going to work. He was going to have to wing it. He could do that. He'd done it before. _Think._

All that was driven out of mind when he heard the second voice.

It was high-pitched, nervous, and chattery. Deferential. It spoke so low he couldn't tell what it was saying, but he knew, he _knew _who it was.

_Murderer, _he thought. _Betrayer-_

It nearly turned him feral – it certainly threw him back into that not far-gone mindset: the animal hunted and hunting, all at once. It was only the nearly two years since his escape that kept him tame enough to realize the consequences of transformation at this juncture. He currently had polyjuice in him – and cross-species changes had been proven singularly stupid by more than one witch or wizard, Hermione included.

_Hermione._

The thought brought him back to himself almost instantly. Where _was _she?

"You can't hide from me, Potter." The rasp of Crouch's voice slid around the tombstone strangely. "I know what you're doing. You're trying to buy yourself time to think. You're hoping your situation will get better the more you analyze it - it won't." He laughed. It was a thin sound, cracked and harsh. Crouch was clearly playing with him. They both knew he had the advantage, with both wands in hand.

Sirius kept silent, and still, hoping to make the man uncertain. Peter's voice was in his head, now, though, echoing his sniveling whines over and over and over. He had the uncomfortable realization that it made him almost as off-balance as the madman creeping toward him.

_Stop. Stop thinking of that. _

He focused, trying to steady his breathing and put the distractions out of mind. Harry Potter wasn't larger than Crouch Jr., by any means – but Sirius Black was heavier, and Polyjuice wouldn't have changed the total mass. His only chance would be to attack him physically, with some amount of surprise. He wouldn't be expecting it, surely. He was after a thoroughly frightened, inexperienced young man, not a furious, fully-trained wizard.

He heard the footsteps, slow on the grass. His lip curled instinctively to bare teeth, though he wasn't in the form of a dog. This man was years past the date he should have been dead.

Finally, the crunch of grass under boot came too close, and he realized he would have to act. He did.

Sirius came out low, ducking toward the other man's legs to push at the knees. Harry's smaller form was a little more nimble; it lent itself well to the act. Crouch responded more quickly than Sirius had expected, arcing the wand down at him – but by the time the first syllable of the stunning spell had left his lips, he was on the ground, the air knocked temporarily from his lungs. Sirius took immediate advantage, knowing he had very little time. He strove to drive his elbow into the other man's solar plexus; in his squirming, he only managed to hit his stomach, but another sudden out-rush of breath told him that it would probably do.

One of the wands had fallen, a couple feet to the right. He dove for it – closed fingers around it – his heartbeat increased, as grim thoughts came to mind, involving a rat-faced little man.

"_St-stupefy!"_

The one that had just dazed him.

The wand dropped from limp fingers. Sirius managed only a dim, hateful stare, before his paralyzed lungs and furious heartbeat threw him unconscious.

000000

There was a delirium, in between.

A part of her was aware it wasn't real. It was the part that usually dissented, the logical, unmovable Hermione that usually made up the core of the personality. It had been shunted, long since, toward the dimmer reaches of her mind.

The larger part was staring sightlessly at the grain in the wood of the stare, while a quiet hand stroked her hair.

"_I thought you were dead."_

She knew this memory.

"It's not something I didn't anticipate," she whispered.

"_I should have been there."_ His scent was there, so close, so very elusively close. She remembered other things, all jumbled and perfect and warm and guilty. There had been times – the most desperate times – when he had held her very tightly.

"_...you looked just like them."_

She shut her eyes, and gave a tired sob. "I know. I know. I'm sorry."

The presence disappeared, and she knew then that it had been entirely her own delusion this time. They were all her memories – they were _hers_, and it was him, right here, right now. And he would mourn, before he died himself.

"It's not your fault," she told him, regardless. "None of this was ever your fault." But it was. It was him, and it always had been.

Hermione shuddered, lifting her head. The stairs went on and on, up into infinity and that flickering room of shadows.

There was no time. As always, there was simply not enough time, in the end.

The memories became a murmur – then an echo – then nothing at all.

Hermione opened her eyes again; she pushed herself to shaking feet, and dragged herself toward the door.

The acrid stench of burning wood followed on her heels.

The first little lick of flame began not that much later, on that high hill behind her. She counted the horror against her conscience like a point on a chart, then promptly forgot about it.

000000

"Let me do it, my Lord. I will do you proud, I will make him suffer..."

Sirius stirred, his eyes opening to slits.

"No. No." A whining hiss – it set his teeth on edge. "Wormtail has earned the honor. Haven't you, Wormtail?"

There was a whimper. It contained sheer terror, and it gave Sirius a very slight satisfaction in his place.

"If you insist, my Lord..."

He stiffened, as he caught sight of the bundle of cloth Wormtail carried. There was a face in there, grotesque and barely human, and he recognized immediately that it would be his death.

Peter looked up at him, with a horrible fear in his beady little eyes, and he realized that his fear of Voldemort was not a bit less.

The rat-faced man swallowed, and turned toward a cauldron. "Bone of the father, unknowingly given," he said, his voice that high and trembling sound that he had come to despise. "You will renew your son." A grave had been dug up. Something floated toward the cauldron at Peter's insistence, while Crouch held the child, looking on with a fanatic gleam in his eyes.

Sirius struggled to lift his head, to make himself cognizant. This was a ritual. It wasn't anything he'd ever seen or even heard of before. Considering the illustrious House of Black, that was impressive and discomforting.

Peter looked down, then closed his eyes as he drew a knife. There was a whimper. "Flesh of the servant... w-willingly given... you will r-revive your master..." He realized what was about to happen only belatedly, as the knife came down, and a strangled sound escaped his throat. Peter was clutching at the bleeding stump of his arm, now, and pity managed to reach him for a moment, in his haze. Then, the knife came for his arm, and he pulled back quickly – only to find that he was quite strongly bound.

"Blood of the enemy." Another whimper, and a dry-mouthed swallow. "Forcibly taken- you will- r-resurrect your foe-"

The knife drew along his arm with a sharp motion, and he jerked in surprise and pain. This couldn't possibly be happening – it was so much worse, _so_ much worse than he could possibly have imagined. "What are you _doing?_" he rasped at Peter, incredulous, and he found himself unpleasantly surprised to be speaking in his godson's voice.

Peter was horrified, but trapped. The cauldron was bubbling violently, now, and Crouch had stepped forward. With exaggerated care, he lowered the bundled monstrosity into the mixture. His eyes shone with an ecstatic madness.

"The Dark Lord will rise again," he whispered.

The cauldron gave a hiss of triumph, as though to agree.

"You coward," Sirius hissed at Peter. "You little sneaking coward, you _spineless_ murderer-" Every word seemed to bite into the quivering man; he spent agonized moments glancing between Sirius and the cauldron, hugging his arm to him desperately.

There was a fog growing, a dark mist, blacker than the darkened sky. It swirled strangely, malevolently, coalescing slowly into a vaguely humanoid shape. Sirius struggled in terror and desperation, against the chains that held him – but he found that the more he struggled, the more they held him. They were, in fact, tightening on his wrists...

The Dark Lord was there, then, quite suddenly, and he found that the way people described his horrible, smothering presence was not over-exaggerated. His face was flattened, though, in mimic of a serpent – as though an artist had tried to paint a human being, but forgotten to look in a mirror.

The blood trickled down the inside of his arm; to the wrist, and into his palm, streaming delicately through his fingers. It was revolting to think that it also flowed in _him_, now.

"How good of you to join me tonight, of all nights, Harry Potter." Red eyes looked at him with unadulterated pleasure, as a hand reached up toward him. Cold, clammy skin brushed his face, and he flinched back. "You see?" Almost pleasantly, with sibilance. "I can touch you now." There was triumph in the tone, though, which the Dark Lord didn't bother to hide.

Sirius looked at him strangely, for a moment. And then, like a man faced with death, he began to laugh.

000000

"Dumbledore," Lupin said quietly, intercepting the old man before the other two delegates could get to him. "I checked. The cup isn't there. The other two champions are still inside – Cedric and the cup are gone."

The Headmaster looked at him sharply, but found himself cut off by two furious and very frightened teachers.

"Incroyable! I have heard zat 'e was cursed! Clearly, zis is a Durmstrang plan! Zey are known for cheating!"

Karkaroff glared at Maxime furiously, not even bothering to hide his anger. "She covers for her student, Dumbledore! Now that her plan is discovered, she will say anything!"

Maxime took a deep breath, and drew herself up to her full height – which was quite considerable. "My school," she said coldly. "Teaches a code of _conduct _that your teachers do not even _bother_ with! Everyone is aware zat Durmstrang is a school for little _monsters_."

Karkaroff's face turned red with fury – his mouth was opening and closing incredulously – but before he could respond, Snape was there.

"Headmaster," he said tightly. "There is something happening."

Karkaroff's eyes widened a moment later, and the blood drained from his face. A hand went reflexively to his forearm.

"He hasn't called yet," Snape said quietly, in a horrible undertone. "But he will."

000000

A strange thing happened, as Sirius laughed - it wasn't entirely unexpected, at least for him. His voice drew out deeper. His face grew lines. His eyes turned gray, and once more haunted. He felt the chains bite into his wrists painfully, even as the Dark Lord let out a roar of indescribable hatred and fury.

"_Crucio!_"

He continued laughing, even through the pain. It jumped some, here and there – his muscles spasmed – but he found, to his amazement, that even this wouldn't stop it. Tears of pain and hysteria began to run down his face, even as the curse intensified.

"_Dog!_" Crouch screamed wildly, his eyes wide. "Dog of a Black!" Spittle flew from the corners of his mouth.

Peter merely stared, weak and dazed and whimpering.

"_Crucio! CRUCIO!"_

Voldemort's anger seemed incalculable. His wand trembled in his hand with the effort of the curse. The laughter finally subsided into a scream.

He barely noticed, when it stopped. In fact, he realized, he may have passed out briefly in the interim.

Something broke the chains on his arms abruptly; he fell bonelessly to the ground, his cheek pressing into the dirt. Something was digging into his chest, though, and for some reason it irritated him so increidbly much that he found himself pushing up on trembling arms, to look behind.

It was Hermione.

She looked nothing like herself. Her face was pallid and white as a corpse, though her lips seemed stained a horrible red, just where they met. There was blood soaked into every patch of clothing, a deep, spreading crimson stain, which dripped even from a few strands of her hair. The anger on her face was inhuman, though, and fearful. With the growing tower of flame on the hill behind her, he could have easily mistaken her for a vengeful ghost.

She pointed her wand at Voldemort, the darkness of her eyes aflame.

"_Avada Kedavra."_

The jet of green flashed across the distance, a sickening color that reminded him of even more horrible things. There was a cry of mad desperation, though, and then an even worse scream. It cut off moments later.

Four pairs of eyes watched Crouch junior's lifeless body tumble to the ground.

There was a period of silence. Unbroken, except by the distant crackle of flames. Sirius felt, even, that his heart may have ceased to beat for that small time. Hermione stared at the dead man, eyes wide, fingers trembling. Her hand went to clutch at her stomach strangely.

Then, Voldemort was stepping past the blankly staring body, his black robes rustling behind him. He smiled grimly, and pointed his wand back at the suddenly unsteady girl.

Sirius didn't give him the time to speak. He threw himself at the man's legs, trying to take him down like Crouch. It was probably the only thing that saved her; the spell the Dark Lord had intended was exactly the same as the one she'd just used. His wand went awry, and his words turned into a meaningless hiss, as he kicked at the dog that suddenly tore at his feet. "Lapdog," Voldemort spat at him, gesturing with his wand – and somehow, he found himself thrown away, to tumble against the ground – transformed back in a careless instant.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ Hermione said desperately, trying to disarm him quickly. But it was brushed away with a counter-movement and a word, and Sirius found himself watching helplessly as the Dark Lord advanced on her.

"_Imperius."_

Her eyes widened.

The Dark Lord smiled. It held the promise of suffering.

"Crouch was an invaluable servant," he said softly.

Her arm jerked – the hand with the wand raised.

"You killed a most loyal servant. I think I shall have you repay me in kind."

Her steps were halting; her face was utterly white, and her lips trembled in terror. Sirius struggled to raise himself on still-shaky limbs, watching her uncertainly.

The steps continued. One by one by one. It was slow, and staggering, and he knew that she was fighting it with every ounce left in her. But Voldemort was an adept with it, and Sirius knew that the sheer force of his will couldn't possibly compare to Lupin's gentle touch. It was with a sinking feeling that he looked up at her, when she came to stand above him.

"Blood for blood," Voldemort said, his snake-like pupils fixed on her.

"Blood for blood," Hermione echoed involuntarily. Sirius saw the blood on the inside of her lips as she spoke. The despair on her face, though, made his heart wrench.

The Dark Lord watched her very carefully, his snake-like lips curled upward.

Sirius locked his eyes on hers, careful and calm, as her wand pointed at his chest. He kept the gaze. Hard and grim. "I don't blame you," he told her. It surprised him, perhaps, that he meant it.

Hermione gave a strangled little half-cry, her wand hand shaking. Her eyes closed tightly, and her mouth opened soundlessly. There was a breath: something that sounded very much like the first syllable.

A sudden, incredible wrench, with a sob; her wand dropped, and she threw her arms around him.

There was a taste of copper in his mouth. The surprise of warmth, and sticky blood, and soft, tender lips on his, for an infinite little moment.

"_Avada Kedavra."_

It didn't last.


	35. Queen Declined

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

Sigh. I'm not horrid enough to leave you people at that. But I _am_ surprised no one caught the obvious loophole. Maybe I've been overemphasizing the time travel aspect of the timeturner too much. Er. You'll know what I mean in a moment.

There's probably going to be only one more chapter, possibly an epilogue. This fic is going to leave some loose ends, obviously, but it's meant to. I suppose if anyone wants to continue from there, they're welcome to. I'll be both satisfied and a little sad, when this ends. I pray to god I don't get another ridiculously long term idea like this, but I know I will, eventually.

My book? Is at 60,000 words. This series? At least double that, by now.

**Chapter 34 – Queen Declined**

_"Every moment of our lives is a dying moment; the I of that moment dies, never to be reborn."_ **  
-Huston Smith, The World's Religions**

There was a funny flash of green light – surreal, almost gentle, nothing like in his wildest nightmares.

Her lips were paused on his, for a moment. Then, she was curving in on herself, tiny and bloody and pale. He caught her only by reflex. Her hand was still curled, at the front of his robes.

It was unnatural.

"...disappointing." Voldemort said, lowering his wand. Without further thought or care, he turned about. "Wormtail," he said. "Give me your arm."

Peter glanced up at him, clearly shaken. His eyes, frightened and vaguely haunted before, were now indescribable. "Master..." he whispered, trembling. "I..." Holding out the bleeding stump, hesitantly.

"The other arm."

Peter paused. A second later, he easily acceded, his expression the strangely glassy kind of those in shock.

Sirius stared down at Hermione. His mind had stopped working. Everything had stopped working. There was, in fact, a peculiarly empty sensation in him as he looked at her still face. She was warm, still. It felt somehow wrong to let her go.

Peter let out a cry of sudden pain, as the mark on his forearm began to burn black.

The pop of displaced air. The confusion of sudden apparition. The swirl and swish of musty black, long unused, left in deepest closets to rot. White faces were appearing all around him, like ghosts beneath the flickering light of the burning Riddle House.

He failed to see them.

A confused murmur – words – a flash of silver. "Go see if Nagini still lives," Voldemort ordered Peter. The still-dazed man looked down at his new arm, then at the torch-like house on the hill. It was doubtful anything could survive such a thing. "_Go!_" Voldemort hissed at him, and he seemed to come back to himself somewhat. His scurrying footsteps disappeared into the mutters of the crowd.

People were looking at him, from behind their masks. Some might even have recognized him. Others were more focused on the dead girl he still held.

Pale and crimson. It was ghastly. It was – everything all over again. It was a sudden wish that he had stayed in Azkaban instead, or that he might still go back, because surely, _surely_ there was nothing worse than this exact moment where he was frozen still in horrified incomprehension. He would deserve it this time, if he hadn't before.

"Ah. My... loyal servants." There was a chill in the words, as Voldemort swept slowly across the graves. His reptilian eyes fixed on various people, as though he could see straight through their masks. It was entirely possible. His mouth quirked ironically. "And which one of you will volunteer yourselves, to take care of this sudden nuisance of mine?"

There was a scramble, and a sudden rise in the voices. A panic. Voldemort held up a hand. "I expected as much." The smile curled with derision. "So eager to redeem yourselves, now that the Dark Lord is here to watch." There was a long, drawn out pause. Hearts could be heard, pounding frantically as one. "None of you is loyal. I will repair this myself. Watch well. It could be your fate."

Sirius didn't look up, at the mention that was made of him. Footsteps moving, again.

The dregs of a delicate gold chain slid from his neck, going silent to the ground. It was then that he noticed.

She was pale. Very pale. Her face had no hint of green to it.

Her clenched hand held the timeturner.

Hermione's body shuddered against him, suddenly. She was breathing hard, in gasping, dying breaths that simply wouldn't die. Her eyes opened feverishly, and he realized with a kind of horror that they'd forgotten the original intention of a Horcrux. She wasn't dead. Neither could she be called alive.

Voldemort paused as he regarded the curious movement, wand half-raised. His tattered robes swished around his feet.

"Horcrux," he said. It was a single word of recognition, cold.

"Yes." It was a small, weak whisper, and only Sirius heard it. The hand on the timeturner clenched harder. There was something alien behind her eyes now; a Hermione he recognized only dimly. Her hand – cold, by now – was suddenly in his, pressing something there. "I can't do it," she said, her voice odd. It was so quiet that he had to lean in to hear her. "It has to be you. It wasn't always. It just... it's you, now."

He looked down. There was a small locket in his hand.

"Destroy it." It was very nearly unintelligible, as she closed her eyes again.

Voldemort's footsteps approached.

She'd done everything but put him on the path. This was a chance to hurt Voldemort, significantly. To get revenge for every death, every disgrace, every horrible atrocity...

Sirius Black closed his eyes, and prepared himself to do the most cowardly thing he had ever done.

"No."

He apparated.

000000

Most of the people who were there remember the day very clearly. It wasn't the sort of thing you forgot in a hurry.

The waiting area of St. Mungo's was full to brimming. People with boils, people unhappily conjoined and/or splinched, people sneezing out their ears or covered in green polka dots...

He was covered in blood, when he walked in. They wouldn't have recognized him otherwise.

The girl in his arms was even more bloody – enough so that it was clear where most of the smears on him had come from. The medi-witch behind the counter was still in training, but she knew with just a glance that the girl was dead. Her face was much too pale, and her arms dangled at odd angles.

Perhaps, if it hadn't been so unexpected, one of the people in the aisles of chairs would have stood up to face him. But instead, there was a kind of stunned silence, half fright, half sheer puzzlement, as he walked toward the desk.

"You have to help her," he said. His manner was surprisingly calm, inestimably sane. But his voice trembled.

The auburn-haired witch behind the desk ("Annie", said the nametag) found herself entirely unable to respond. This drew on for a moment, while inside she tried to mentally go through the book of procedures they'd had her read for the job. There were all sorts of things about spell damage and vanished familiars and such, but absolutely nothing on Azkaban escapees. That wasn't surprising. There'd never been one before, after all.

She found herself going into autopilot mode.

"I'm afraid... sir..." A pause. "There is nothing we can do for her."

The girl shifted, very slightly, and she nearly bit her tongue.

"For god's sake," he said pleadingly, his voice wavering. "She's only a student!"

Annie rose from behind the desk with a swallow, descending into a much too-calm vertigo. "Right this way, sir."

The nervous breakdown came much later.

000000

He was there, when she woke up.

His face was grave, and tired, and there was dried blood on his cheek, his robes, under his fingernails. He looked for all the world as though he hadn't slept in days.

In fact, as she rose very carefully up on her pillow, she realized this was likely the case.

"Don't do that," he said, almost automatically. Hermione felt the sudden stabbing in her stomach, and had no choice but to follow the advice. He reached out to steady her with one hand – she felt it tremble as he did.

"Where am I?" Her voice was hoarse, and dry, from lack of water. Her mouth tasted like blood, still.

"Mungo's," Sirius told her, and there was a peculiar note to his voice as he did. He was staring at her haggardly, like a man half-dreaming certain nightmares.

"Oh," she said, suddenly feeling a horrible pit in her stomach. "Oh..." She felt her eyes tear up, in spite of the fact that she still felt dehydrated. "Oh Sirius." She threw herself forward into his arms, ignoring the pain.

It gave him pause for only a moment, before he lowered his face to her hair. One hand stroked her shoulder very gently, and she felt his body tremble every once in a while with a silent sob. He seemed to be trying very hard not to hurt her, while at the same time his first frightened impulse was to tighten his arms until she couldn't get away. His fingers found her chin, after a moment, and there was his mouth on hers: confused, horrified, relieved. Perfect, in many ways. It might have been some kind of natural reaction, after that sort of ordeal; she didn't much care. She pressed back desperately, ignoring all the problems and possible embarrassments and questions that might result. He responded by tangling his fingers in her already-knotted hair.

There wasn't a lot of communication in any of these gestures. They merely solved everything and nothing, all at once. Merely sharing someone else's heat at this point was enormously relieving.

He'd probably have looked at her very strangely, if she'd told him she loved him.

When it finally ended, there was a long silence of unspoken words. An agreement to worry about that rather unimportant complication some other time.

She didn't dare imagine he'd let her go, though.

"Why hasn't anyone arrested you?" Hermione asked him with a swallow.

He closed his eyes, with a deep breath, and she felt an overwhelming sympathy. Whatever the answer, it would have been an ordeal.

"Call it a plea bargain."

She frowned dimly. Remembering things, all hazy and blurred. "The... what about the locket?" Then, in a sudden panic, she reached for her neck. "The timeturner!"

Sirius held her still. "The locket's in Ministry custody," he said with distaste. "Part of the... part of their requirements." He hesitated for a moment. "The timeturner..." Hermione saw his eyes move toward the bedside table. She followed his gaze tremulously.

The timeturner was there – but it was dull, and somehow unenthused, compared to the way it had been. There was a prominent crack running down the center, though none of the sand had escaped.

Hermione felt her breath leave her. Panic took its place. She tried to break free of him to reach out toward it and pick it up, but he held her tightly still.

"It saved you," Sirius said shortly. "Not alone, but it did. It served its purpose." There was a peculiar measure of anger in his tone.

"It..." She swallowed. "Oh god." He couldn't possibly understand. She didn't expect him to. It had been _her_ – a person, all on its own. She'd shared a strange relationship with the other Hermione, at times. She'd alternately hated her, loathed her, pitied her, looked down on her. There were times, though... times they'd thought with one voice. Things they agreed on so strongly that there may as well have been nothing to distinguish them apart at all.

In truth, the things she'd hated about her had been her own flaws. Apart from that, there had been understanding, of a sort, and perhaps some kind of love.

_I'm sorry._

She buried her face in his chest for a good while longer, waiting for the sudden grief and helplessness to subside. And, in that strange, silent way of his, he let her.


	36. Epilogue

**Shattered Moments  
By Rurouni Star**

There's always been a couple of things I wasn't sure I made clear. For anyone who _was_ wondering, and didn't pick it up: Snape was the one that sent the original research to Hermione, after Dumbledore died. He knew at that point the sort of moral decision it would entail. The bulk of the note that came with it was Dumbledore's. The apology was Snape's.

Also, I had no perfect place to put in some other wrap-ups, but they weren't absolutely critical. Harry does not move in with Sirius – he still needs the protection of his own blood – but Sirius _does_ pay the Dursleys a nice, amusing visit, wherein Azkaban is probably mentioned at least once. Hermione's little time traveling thing is never mentioned to the Ministry, for obvious reasons, though they probably wouldn't believe it anyway. Her parents might have been contacted about her hospital visit, but Dumbledore engineered a bit of confusion in pinpointing them to send anything, so they're none wiser, and Hermione gets to have a horribly uncomfortable conversation when she gets home. She probably lies.

If there are any other questions, I might make an attempt to clear them up, since this story was so ridiculously long and convoluted. Gosh, I miss it already.

I want to make it clear, if I haven't before – I've appreciated the reviews incredibly. They've made me blush, on occasion; and even though we'd like to think otherwise, we all know authors are insecure, and rely on some sort of praise to keep themselves going. I certainly haven't been lacking in that. To anyone who took the time to leave a comprehensive, detailed review, or even just a small one – I read them _all_. You are what made this monster of a fic worthwhile. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Plans for other fiction are sketchy, but I've started on a novelization of Neverwinter Nights: Hordes of the Underdark that I might put up. I'm hoping to make it comprehensive enough that anyone can read it and understand it/be entertained. Again, though, I am writing on an actual novel, which is coming along steadily. And our comic. That too.

So much to write. So little time.

**Epilogue**

_"It is indifferent to me where I make a beginning; for there I come back again."_**  
-Parmenides**

There was no time, anymore. No extras, no redos, no hurried, last-minute fixes.

There was no time except the time she was supposed to have, and it went in a line now, instead of looping and twisting; it was suddenly so simplistic that it made her occasionally afraid.

But there were things to do. And there was no longer any time to think about this, in view of everything else that had happened.

000000

"I see you're awake, Miss Granger. And no worse for the wear, I hope?"

She looked at the Headmaster warily, trying to discern his intent. He would of course have waited for Sirius to leave. He had to leave some time.

"Much worse, I'm afraid, Headmaster." It was careful, but she couldn't entirely hide the icy tones behind it.

His face didn't change, though she knew he had some semblance of guilt, somewhere deep down. It wasn't _enough_ guilt, though, because she knew he would do everything exactly the same way over again.

"Voldemort is reborn," Dumbledore said. It would have been partially a question, except that he already knew.

"It happened last time too," she said, trying to sound indifferent. The quaver in her voice failed her.

"But there were differences this time," he said. "And I need to know what they were."

Hermione looked at him carefully, trying to gauge him. She knew he was a ruthless man, when he had to be. There had been changes – important ones – but she knew already that she would have to pick and choose her words. "Tell me about Sirius first," she said. "What bargain was he talking about?"

Dumbledore sat down in the vacated chair, the weariness prominent in his face. "The Ministry received a rather interesting note from one of the school owls, around the same time we estimate you apparated away. It seemed to insist that they send a large number of Aurors to a certain graveyard. Of those sent, three are now dead; but among those that returned, Kingsley Shacklebolt seems to swear by the fact that he saw someone the spitting image of Peter Pettigrew. Which seems to corroborate an otherwise incredible sort of story." His mouth twitched tiredly. "Furthermore, in light of the fact that both Crounch Junior and Senior were allied with the Dark Lord, the convictions once made by the latter are now suspect."

Hermione interrupted him here. "Only Crouch Junior was involved," she said. "I told you tha..." Her eyes narrowed.

Dumbledore sighed. "It's best to let certain matters lie, I should think. With one of them dead and the other insane, there's very little reason to save any reputations at the potential expense of Mr. Black."

If it had been anyone else, she may have objected, on principle. But god and the devil both knew she'd already done worse for the sake of Sirius Black.

"...I understand," she said. "But the bargain?"

Dumbledore shrugged eloquently. "Mr. Black has already provided the Ministry with one Horcrux, which it is currently endeavoring to destroy – a gesture of good will on his part, I'm sure. He has agreed to join one of the Auror teams. Shacklebolt's, incidentally. He will be helping with the efforts to secure the other Horcruxes, and in repelling any overt strikes by Voldemort."

"That's unfair," she said bluntly. "He's already done more than enough. And they _know_ he's not guilty."

"Agreed," Dumbledore said. "But he would have done those things in any case, unless I miss my mark. At least this way he'll have people keeping something of a rein on him." He settled himself more squarely in the seat. "As we were speaking of, however... the differences in this last event may be critical."

He wasn't going to let it go.

"...we didn't get to the locket, last time," she said reluctantly. "Nor the snake."

Dumbledore frowned in thought. "You seemed to intimate that Mr. Potter would have been there, instead of Sirius Black."

Hermione had hoped very much that he wouldn't catch that. But there was no point in denying it, and he would only grow suspicious if she did. "I believe so," she said. "I couldn't tell you exactly how it changed things, though. I don't have access to the memories anymore." She avoided looking at the bedstand, though they'd already taken the broken timeturner.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" he pressed. "Anything else?"

Hermione raced through the details in her mind, looking for something – anything – to placate him with. She had to keep him away from that subject. "...no," she said finally, reluctantly.

Dumbledore watched her for a moment; she kept her eyes low. He didn't need to read it from her mind.

"Then I'll return some other time," he said, rising to his feet. "You'll need to recover your strength if you wish to return to school. We've had your exams delayed, in view of events."

"I'm not going back," she said.

He raised his eyebrows.

She knew it was strange of her. School had always been her main focus – it was a defining aspect, a kind of quintessential detail of being Hermione. Harry and Ron were there, furthermore, and all of her studies and dreams. She was in a good position; she was probably already a shoo-in for Head Girl. It was ludicrous.

"I'm going to apply for the accelerated Auror training," she said. "I'm the right age, technically. I'll have to go through the right legal channels to have it finalized, but there are ways to get it cleared up."

"They very rarely accept people who haven't gone through the school program first," Dumbledore told her slowly. She could tell he was trying to think of ways to dissuade her already.

"I have perfect marks," she said bluntly. "And I may not have all those memories, but most of the things I _do_ remember, I'd like to forget. Exactly the sort of things they need."

"I see," he sighed. "You've already spent time thinking this through, I'm afraid."

"You can't dissuade me," Hermione told him quietly. "And you won't make me forget, or confuse me. There's always the chance that I might know something else."

"You're a very shrewd girl, Miss Granger." Dumbledore said, shaking his head helplessly. "I hope it helps you."

"It already has," she said simply.

000000

And there were answers – very simple answers, _surprisingly _simple, when she looked back on them.

"Of course we knew," Ron sighed, as he helped her with her trunk at Hogwarts. "We're not stupid, Hermione. Just because we're not _geniuses _like some-"

"I never said I was a genius!" she retorted hotly, but Harry picked up where he'd left off.

"You kept telling me to mind my own business," he told her, "but really, look where that got you. I figured one of the teachers had to be in on it, since you weren't being bothered about being snappy at all."

"_Snappy?_" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Be fair, Hermione, you were." Ron frowned, as the trunk split, spilling books down the stairs. "...bother."

Harry plucked one up, but mostly waited for him to clean it up. "I grilled Lupin," he admitted. "I figured he was the most likely to tell me anything. And he kept looking like he wanted to say something to you, but he never did."

"And he just – _told _you about Sirius, just like that?" she demanded, picking up _Hogwarts: A History_.

"Of course not," Harry snorted. "Sirius walked in right about in the middle. He was wearing the cloak, but I'm not dense enough to imagine that doors open on their own all the time."

"Some help, Harry?" Ron asked irritably. Harry sighed, and stepped down to collect a few of the volumes. Hermione moved to help as well, but found herself stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

"This way, Granger. I'm sure they can handle it." She let herself be guided off, partially at sheer surprise. Malfoy shook his head as they went. "I was somewhat hoping it'd be a bit more exciting than books – but as it turns out, you're very badly predictable."

"Why _is _everyone doing their best to insult me today?" she said irritably. He laughed ironically.

"For them, it's because you nearly died. For me – just the usual." He closed the classroom door behind them, and threw himself somewhat lazily into a desk. "Just thought I ought to clear up some things before you go."

"You sent the letter to the Ministry," she said.

Malfoy actually gave her a slightly injured look. "Don't you _ever _consider just pretending to be surprised?" he asked her. "I thought I had the upper hand for a moment there."

She shrugged, sitting down in front of the door. "Old habits die hard. But... I was surprised, when I heard about it."

He was silent, for a moment. It gave her time to reflect that his hair was back to its irritatingly perfect state, and that his clothing was once again impeccable, expensive, and blood-free. She'd almost preferred the slightly tattered, crimson-stained Malfoy. He hadn't been any less grating, but it had been easier to deal with when he was so obviously off-balance himself.

"Was I always such a fence-sitter?" he asked suddenly, and she found herself surprised again. "Every time, I mean?"

Hermione stared at him for a moment, trying to form a response to the unexpected question. "You..." A pause. "I don't know," she admitted honestly. "From what I remember, you did usually take a long time to decide."

"You were wondering why," he explained to her, glancing over. "That's why. I mean..." He seemed suddenly vaguely uncomfortable. "There's something very depressing, about certainty. I had the sudden urge, to do something entirely different this time."

Hermione nodded, slowly. "No," she said. "I do understand. You wanted to buck fate." A little smile curved her lips. "I always did that, in Divination. There's a kind of satisfaction, in tearing predictions apart."

He shrugged, suddenly looking at the door. "I've chosen sides, Granger."

She understood, then, why he'd wanted to talk to her so badly.

"I was wrong," Hermione said.

He glanced at her, his posture slightly slouched. A small defiance, compared to everything else. "What?"

"You're not a coward. It was actually better than I could have come up with. I'd never have asked it of you, though."

She saw the slight change in him: the straightening, the strengthening of purpose. Because everyone needed vindication, for their sacrifices.

"I'm hardly your drone," he said, though. "I don't need your permission to do things."

"You're right," she agreed, getting to her feet. She could hear Harry and Ron, calling somewhere outside the door.

"Going off to become an Auror?" he asked her, sounding unimpressed.

"I am."

He hopped off the desk, rubbing at one cheek. "Well..." He frowned. "Leave my father alone, if you can. Because he really _is_ just a coward."

Hermione tilted her head at him consideringly. Malfoy Senior had done some unforgivable things – quite literally, if she remembered correctly. But Malfoy Junior had quite possibly saved her life, and there was no doubt in her mind that he had singularly gotten Sirius his provisional freedom. The second, it turned out, was more important to her than the first.

"I'll try," she said.

He shrugged again, as though it had merely been a sidethought. She knew better.

"_Hermione!"_

She sighed, and turned to push her way back through the door. She hoped, in a strange sort of way, that it wouldn't be the last she saw of Malfoy. It wasn't something she let herself admit for some time to come.

000000

And there were things that needed to be aired, one way or another.

Some time after the twins discovered that the Marauder's Map had mysteriously started working again, she had to have a long talk with Sirius. She was halfway afraid of it – for very good reasons.

"You cheated death, and you want to try it again for a living?" he asked her incredulously.

Hermione frowned. "You're going to be doing it," she said.

"Yes, but I've got no choice!" he responded irritably. "And – damnit, why are we having this talk while I have to move my furniture?"

"You started it," Hermione reminded him blithely, as he struggled with one of the chairs in his flat. "Oh, come _on_, Sirius, you're a wizard." She flicked her own wand. "_Wingardium Leviosa._"

The chair floated up into the air and traveled across the room, to deposit itself tastefully in a corner.

"I _still_ haven't gotten a decent wand replacement, in case you hadn't noticed," he said acidly. "And aren't you too young to do that?"

"You might think so," she told him, kicking her legs up onto the end of the couch. "But no. Judicious use of an age line has informed both the Ministry and me that I am seventeen."

She fully appreciated the silence from his end. It _was _a bit of a surprise. She'd been saving it for a rainy day.

"Should I repeat that?" Hermione asked him innocently, but he was already muttering something vile underneath his breath.

"I wondered why you suddenly had a taste for moving furniture," Sirius said. "Look, we already – or, it was fairly well _understood_ that I was not going to-"

"Except," she told him, very serious now. "You will, Sirius. Because this war is just beginning, and god only knows what might happen." She fiddled with her wand a little nervously, trying to keep her voice level. Finally, with a bit of an outburst, she said: "I'd rather get to know you, before I lose you this time!"

There was a good long pause at this one. She heard his footsteps, though, after a moment. He reached over to take one of her hands – hesitantly. She noted, as always, that he was very warm, and that his hands were very smooth. She'd long since started memorizing things about him, on those occasions that she saw him. In case... in case...

"You're not going to lose me," he said. "I can take care of myself. And in any case..." A pause. "Your parents are dentists," he said.

She felt her face change to one of total confusion. "...what? What on earth has that got to do with it?"

"...I don't know," he admitted. "I just felt like using an argument you couldn't logic me out of. You're terribly good at that."

Hermione grinned. "Actually," she said. "You have very nice teeth. You may have to give that point up as well."

He sighed heavily, shaking his head. Then, after a moment of helplessness, he leaned over to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

"See now?" she murmured, angling herself a bit awkwardly to catch his lips instead. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Murmured against him.

"I think you're getting a terrible amount of fun out of this," he accused her, pulling back.

She shrugged. "I have to get it somewhere. Auror training is going to be hell; the accelerated program is even worse, I hear." She gave him her most innocent expression. "Would you like to teach me again, beforehand? Just to catch me up to speed?"

"You're a cunning little girl," he said. "You _know _I won't refuse. I want you alive."

"I know," Hermione agreed. "And I'm going to do my best." She hesitated, still holding his hand. "You're going to have to stay alive as well," she said. "For... for more reasons than one. Than me, I mean."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. She could see that he was tempted to make light of things again, but she was being serious, and he understood that. "Why is that?"

Hermione lowered her eyes, and tightened her grip on his hand. "...never mind." She smiled at him, and subsequently changed the subject. "I think you'll have to teach me how to dance, as well."

Surprisingly, he let it go at that.

She spent the rest of the evening helping him get situated. There was little else to do – he was still vaguely uncomfortable with her, she could tell, and it was going to take time to acclimate. It was very similar for her; the difference was that she had the occasional memory of some unfathomable longing. It was sometimes enough to drive her to the edge of tears, until she forced it on herself that he was alive and well and trying to rummage something to eat without the aid of a wand or a house elf.

It was harder now than ever, now that she'd realized a very uncomfortable truth. The one she'd kept from Dumbledore, and then from him, in spite of the fact that he really should have known.

It had been the other Hermione that put it together, just before her end.

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._

There had been three lives. Three times, they'd lost. Three times she'd escaped Voldemort, running to a place he couldn't follow. Resetting the table...

"When did I visit you?" she asked Sirius, as he tried to make sense of the pantry. He stopped to glance over at her, a bit confused.

"When did you mean?" he asked.

She stared up at the ceiling blankly - still lying on the couch, her ankles crossed. "...in Azkaban." It was very, very quiet.

It had the effect she'd expected, as his face turned troubled. But she had a definite need to know.

"I don't know," he said. "I couldn't tell you, at all. Days run together there."

Hermione sighed. "Sorry," she said. "It was a weird thought."

_It was July._

Dumbledore could hardly have put it together, in the same way she had. Not unless she'd given him much more information than she had. But he, too, knew that Voldemort had taken Sirius' blood; he'd called him his enemy. There was a scar there, still, on his forearm – a small white line, like a spiderweb. It was in much the same place that a Death Eater's mark might have been.

"I'm overanalyzing," she murmured aloud, turning over onto her side.

_I don't believe in Divination anyway._

"How the hell do you work this thing?" Sirius demanded aloud. Hermione heard him kick at the stove.

She sighed, and rolled onto her feet. "One moment," she called. "Don't break anything."

From here, it was a long way ahead. She had hope that it would end a little better this time.


End file.
